Not Broken, Just Bent
by books-are-better
Summary: Modern Day AU. Peeta's been burned one too many times, and just needs to get out of his head. Enter Katniss Everdeen, the daughter of his father's high school sweetheart. Needing a ride to Maine, the two of them take off on a road trip and discover that maybe it's not all hopeless. Maybe their hearts aren't irreparably broken—just bent.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm done. Officially."

I cross my arms over my chest and lean back into the torn leather seat of the booth. Gale laughs—just once. Then again. Then again and again, throwing his head back and almost spilling his beer all over himself.

"I'm seriously, man," I repeat.

Gale wraps up his laughter, wiping unshed tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand, and looks at me. "Peeta, you said that last time. And the time before that and the time before that and the time before that. You aren't done."

"I am! Women are seriously fucking with me now. They get off on destroying my happiness." I take a sip of my beer and it burns on the way down. I don't want to get drunk—I never do. But it's hard not to order alcohol when you go to a bar.

Gale's eyes flash with sympathy, his jokester façade fading. He only lets his guard down when he's with me. I guess that's what happens when you've been friends for almost eight years. "I'm sorry, Peeta. I know you've had some bad luck recently. But you can't give up. Not you."

"Why me?" It's a question I've asked myself over and over throughout the years, in many different contexts. Why did she cheat on me? Why did she not want me? Why did she hurt me? Why me?

"You want it all, Peeta. Love, family, romance, all that shit—and you can't just give up because a slut cheated on you."

"She wasn't a slut," I defend, anger welling inside me.

Gale raises his eyebrows up at me. "Dude, she _cheated_ on you. How does that not make her a slut?"

I…okay. I'll acquiesce on that. But Delly was really sweet when it started. That's why I fell for her. She was smart and kind and a little bubbly, but I liked it. Until tonight. Being dumped by someone whose voice is extraordinarily happy and high is the worst thing ever. Hell, it wasn't until she said "it's over" for the fourth time that I realized she was breaking up with me. For Cato Maxwell. I'm gonna punch that guy in the dick the next time I see him.

"You know what they say," Gale says, interrupting my thoughts. "The only way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

I shake my head. "No. I don't want a one night stand. Done with girls, remember?"

Gale scoffs. "Right, I forgot. Well, just because you don't want any, doesn't mean I don't. And that ginger across the bar is eyeing me." I turn my head and follow his gaze to a short girl with man-made curls in her fire colored hair. I turn my body back around and give him a thumbs up.

"Go get her, man."

Gale stands up and ruffles my blonde curls with his olive hand before he walks off in her direction. I take another slug of my beer, finishing it, before I get out of the booth myself. I throw a twenty down on the table to cover my drink as well as Gale's two bourbons, plus a little extra for the waitress, and head out of the bar to spend my first night alone in two months.

* * *

"Hey Dad," I call as I walk through the bakery door, flipping on the "open" sign.

"Peet!" My father looks up at me over the counter, tearing his eyes away from the dough he has in his hands. I cross the white tile floor to reach him, ducking under the bar. He pulls me into his arms as soon as I'm within reach, and I hug him back, relishing in his warm scent of flour and wax.

I've worked in my father's bakery since I was a little tike, but it wasn't until I was in high school, and then college, that I really started to be a part of it. It's basically mine now. My father is only a year or two away from retiring officially, and then he'll sign it over to me. But until then, we work together most days, baking and serving, and he handles the business side—though he's started teaching me that recently.

He pulls back from our hug and forces me to look into his eyes, just as blue as mine. "How are you doing?"

I huff out a sigh. "Not well," I tell him honestly. My dad was the first person I called yesterday when Delly broke up with me. He's been my best friend for as long as I can remember—starting after mom left. I think he always felt guilty about what happened to me, and tried to make up for it as best as he could. He's close with my two older brothers as well, but we've always had a special bond.

Surprising me, he smiles. "Well, I have a proposition for you. Do you remember my friend Patricia Everdeen?"

I nod my head slowly. "Vaguely. I don't think I ever met her, but you've told me stories. You used to date in high school, right?"

My father grins softly, like he's remembering something pleasant from long ago. "Yes, that's her."

"What about her?"

"She died last week."

I feel my eyes bulge out of my head. I didn't see that coming. "Dad, I'm so sorry. What happened?" I place one of my hands on his shoulders and give it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm not sure exactly. I know she's struggled with depression since her husband died nine years ago, so that may be a factor, but her daughter didn't give me any of the details."

"Daughter?" I question. Jesus, poor girl. I don't know what I would do if lost my father, but losing both parents? Most people couldn't heal from that.

He nods. "Yeah, she had two. The younger one died two years ago."

"Fuck," I curse under my breath. I run a hand through my hair, distress and sympathy rocking my core.

"My thoughts exactly. But this is where you come in."

I start, curiosity lighting up my body. "How exactly?"

"Well, Katniss wants to bury her mother alongside her father and her younger sister in their family plot up in Maine. But she doesn't have a way to get there—apparently she doesn't fly and the car she has can't make it long distances. So I offered her your help, son."

"To drive her to Maine?"

My father nods. "She doesn't have anyone else, Peet. And though she was reluctant for any help, I know she needs some. She's strong, Patricia used to tell me that whenever we talked, but she's stubborn. However, I imagine right now, most of all, she's scared." He puts his hands on my shoulders. "You need some time to get away from your life and this would be the perfect opportunity. A road trip with someone who really needs some support; you've always been good at supporting others."

I pause, taking in everything he's saying. He's absolutely right—I do need some time away. Delly was the third girl in a row to cheat on me, and this could be a perfect escape. I'd be away from temptation, so there would be no way for my heart to get injured again, and I could spend some time trying to find out why this keeps happening to me.

"I'd pay for everything, of course," my father says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "I'd give you my credit card to pay for food and gas, and hotels if you need them, though I assume you'll probably want to find camping spots along the way and set up tents."

"Dad, you don't have to pay—" I start, but he cuts me off.

"I _want_ to, Peeta. Patricia meant a lot to me, and if I can help her daughter out in any way, I'm going to." His eyes, so similar to mine, are glassy with tears and filled with determination. "So you'll do it?"

I smile, nodding my head. "Of course. Did you ever think there was a possibility I'd say no?"

He laughs, short and loud. "Nope. Because you're my son. You can't resist a damsel in distress."

The bell rings at the door, signaling a customer, and I sneak into the back quickly to put my apron on as my father greets them.

The breakfast rush occupies us for a couple hours, and the two of us work tirelessly to make sure that every costumer is satisfied and handled with quick efficiency. It's basically the Mellark motto. Gale likes to make jokes about it and how he's sure it really means that all the Mellark men are quick on the draw. Which always earns him a punch in the arm.

"How old is she?" I ask once the clock hits 11:00 and I'm wiping down the few tables we have in the shop.

My father glances up from his slab of dough, soon to be our raisin and nut loaf, and meets my eyes. "Katniss?" he asks. I nod. "A few years younger than you. Just turned twenty, I believe."

"And when does this trip start?"

My father glances down at his watch, then back up at me, grinning like a thief. "Tomorrow at five. So get the hell out of here and pack."

* * *

"Shit, brother, her life totally sucks."

My eyes fly to Finnick, annoyance igniting inside me. "Could you be a little more sensitive, Dickhead?"

He shrugs his swimmer shoulders. "Sensitive is your thing, not mine. But you're right, that was unkind of me." He tucks a lock of his bronze hair behind his ear. "So are you going to pity fuck Katniss or what?"

I throw a wadded up shirt at him, and thankfully, his reflexes don't kick-in in time and it smacks him directly in the face. "No, I'm not." I fold another one of my orange t-shirts and place it in my duffle bag, which is now almost full. I'm over preparing I'm sure, but I don't know if we will ever get a chance to do laundry on the trip, and I have no idea how long it's supposed to last. Plus, there's the whole weather thing. I have to pack clothes just in case it decides to get cold or rain or something.

"Dude, don't bring this." Finnick pulls out my winter coat and throws it into my closet behind him. I shrug my shoulders. He's right—that's probably not necessary.

Finnick's been my friend for almost five years. We met our senior year of high school when I went to a swim meet with my girlfriend at the time. And Jesus, could this guy swim. He was lapping his competitors, breaking school, city and state records. He was even on his way to the Olympics when he irreparably tore the rotator cuff in his right shoulder and they told him he would never be able to swim competitively again. It didn't really bum him out though. He has a natural ability to bounce back from things, even if it takes a while for him to do it. I think that's why we got along. I have that ability too.

"What if she's hot?" he asks, pulling out another heavy sweater from my bag.

"So what? I'm still not going to have sex with her. I'm off women, remember?" I remind him.

"You've said that before."

I roll my eyes and give him my middle finger. Why do my friends keep bringing that up? This time, I actually mean it. I can't keep falling for women that don't care if they hurt me. So I'm just going to avoid them entirely for a while.

"So what you're saying, is that even if this girl strips off her clothes and begs you 'oh please, Peeta, take me with your tiny dick', you wouldn't bang her?"

I lift my eyes to him again, my mind officially blown. "Where the hell do you come up with this stuff? What girl would do that?"

He smiles at me like the Cheshire cat. "You obviously don't know the right type of girls."

I shake my head. "No, I'm pretty sure _you _don't."

Finnick decides to break into his lecture about how to find a girl with the perfect combination of slut and lady, but I tune him out. I've heard this speech too many times to count, and I'm pretty sure it gets more and more fucked up each time he recites it.

As soon as I left the bakery earlier, I hopped into my car, a 2005 jeep I bought after saving up all my bakery earnings from high school, and took it to get tuned up for the trip. And while I sat in the waiting area, I googled the route. It's almost a 2000 mile drive to get to Bar Harbor, Maine which means that it will take at least four days to get there and four days to get back, if we don't do anything but drive, eat and sleep. Which may be what she wants. I, however, wouldn't mind doing a little adventuring along the way. The whole point of this trip for me, besides helping Katniss, is to let a little steam off and to get out of my head. So yeah, maybe we could make a pit-stop in New York City and see the statue of liberty.

"Are you even listening to me?" Finnick asks, his voice filled with annoyance.

"Not even a little bit." I go to place another pair of tennis shoes in my bag, but he slaps them out of my hands.

Finnick groans, and leans back in my desk chair. "Maybe you should be a little nice to me, considering we won't see each other for two weeks."

I look up to him and meet his gaze. "I'm gonna miss you, Finn." My tone is sarcastic, but it's actually true. Finnick adds a little spice to my life—I like having him around.

He smiles. "I know you will." Then he stands up and gives me a simple hug before he opens my door, departing. "Don't forget to bring condoms!" he calls over his shoulder.

Yeah, right.

* * *

I'm twiddling my thumbs, waiting for her to arrive. She lives only an hour and a half south of us apparently, but for whatever reason, I've never met her. My father and her mother kept in contact even after they broke up and married other people, but it was always through conversations on the phone—never in person. And I'm not really sure why that was. But I'd bet my mother had something to do with it. Katniss is driving up to leave her car here while we take the trip, and then it'll be here when we get back. I still think it's interesting that I haven't even spoken a word to her, all contact has been through my father, but I'll see her soon enough.

I hear the bell ring from the front door of the bakery, and I immediately sit up off the stool I'm resting on in front of the stove. I listen to the quiet conversation between my father and a melodic female voice, but I can't make out specific words. I snatch my duffle up off the floor and glance around for my sunglasses. But the counters are bare. I curse to myself. I was _sure_ I brought them with me, but maybe I forgot them. Disgruntled, I throw my bag over my shoulder and exit the kitchen.

"Dad, have you seen my sunglasses?" I yell as I walk down the hallway towards the front. "I thought I set them o—"

I stop as I reach my destination, my sentence forgotten.

"Son, this is Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, this Peeta," I hear my father's voice say, but I can't see him. My vision is fuzzy except for one perfect figure standing in the middle of the bakery, whose bright yellow walls now seem damp and dreary in comparison to her face. She is pure, refreshing beauty. Her posture is perfectly straight, her fingers playing with the end of a long braid of chestnut hair, her left leg crossed in front of her right in a relaxed position. Her lips are natural pale pink, and she's nibbling on her bottom one; it's not a fake tactic women do to appear sexy, but a nervous habit—I can tell in the way she peels at the skin with her two white front teeth. But it's her eyes I focus on. They're a color I didn't even know could exist in someone's iris, but here it is, and it's so beautiful. They are the color of the clouds that build in sky during a summer storm, warm but dangerous.

She removes her hand from her braid and gives me a small wave. "Hi," she greets me, terse and her tone as hard as stone.

"It's wonderful to meet you," I respond, and I can honestly say I've never said anything more true in my entire life.

She looks momentarily dazed, her gaze glassy, but she turns away from me and back to my father.

"You grew up marvelously, Katniss," my Dad tells her. "Your mother sent me school pictures of you and your sister many years ago. I'm so grieved to hear of her passing."

She nods her head, but doesn't say anything.

"We should probably get going, Dad," I say, trying to remove the solemn pall that has taken over the bakery. "Long drive and such."

My father claps his hands, as if he's forgotten. "Of course! Don't want to get caught in too much traffic. Maybe you'll have dinner with me when you guys come back?" He looks at Katniss with such hope; I can tell she's uncomfortable, but she nods her head anyway, agreeing. "Excellent!" He moves to the counter and grabs a brown paper sack, handing it to her. "I made you guys some snacks for the road."

"Thanks," she replies. "For the ride and for this."

My father places a hand on her shoulder, and I watch her tense under his touch, but she doesn't shake him off. "Anytime, Katniss. Be safe."

I cross the room and pull my dad into a hug. "I'll see you soon," I say, smacking him once on the back.

"Call me every once in a while and drive safe," he warns as he pulls away. He presses a kiss to my forehead and ruffles my hair; I try not to blush. Jesus, I'm not seven anymore and there's a beautiful woman present.

"Will do. Bye." I turn my eyes away from my dad and over to Katniss. She's back to fiddling with her braid. "Ready?" She nods, and together we exit the building.

Quickly and silently, we move her two bags and a box from her rusting Honda and place them into the backseat of my jeep before we crawl in, me in the driver's seat and her in the passenger's.

"I just want you to know that I'm not going to put out," she says as soon as I pull onto the street.

I slam on the breaks and the two of us jerk forward; the seatbelt digs into my chest. I turn my eyes to her, completely and utterly shocked. She looks calm and determined. "What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask.

"I'm not sleeping with you. I understand that we're going to be in close quarters, sharing rooms and tents and whatever, but I'm not having sex with you. You should know that up front. I just want to bring my mother's ashes to Maine and come home. Alright?" Her voice is cold, but strong, and I don't dare question her, though she is obviously fucking crazy.

"I never expected you to," I reply truthfully, pressing the gas again. "I'm not some creeper that expects sexual favors from a young girl just because I'm helping her out."

"Good," she replies as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Good."

One thought forms in my head as I pull onto the freeway: what the hell did I get myself into?

* * *

**So this fic has been rolling around in my head recently, and I just had to get it out and see what you guys think! It's my first fic from Peeta's perspective, so I'm a little nervous about that! But now that C&C is done, I figured it was time for another story. Depending on whether or not you like it, I'm thinking it's going to be between 15 and 20 chapters. So please, review and let me know if you want me to continue! **

**And you can always add me on Tumblr: _books-are-bette_r to find out about current and future stories.**

**And if any of you like this story and would like to make an image for it, I would be happy to use it!**


	2. Chapter 2

I fiddle with the radio but it's pure static. I guess that's what happens when you are driving through the middle of Oklahoma. I would plug in my iPod, but I packed it in my bag and I really don't want to ask Katniss to get it for me. She hasn't said a word since she accused me of basically trying to use her as a whore.

I sigh and lean back into my black leather seat. I guess the one good thing that's happened so far on this trip is that my sunglasses were on my head the entire time, so I didn't leave them at home like I assumed. Yay?

"Truce, please?" I plead once we've officially been driving for three hours and now outside Oklahoma City. "I won't have sex with you and you can stop assuming the worst in me. Deal?"

She turns her head to me, and I glance at her momentarily before I turn my eyes back to the road; she looked quizzical, and not pissed, so that's got to be a good sign.

"Deal," she whispers, uncrossing her arms and placing them flat on her legs instead, her fingers spreading out on her thighs.

"Awesome. Now can we play twenty questions or some shit so I don't fall asleep from boredom?" I ask, running a hand through my hair. That was surprisingly easy. Maybe she's not as crazy as I thought.

"Twenty questions?"

"Yeah. I ask you something about yourself and then you ask me. We should probably get to know each other if we are going to spend every second together for a while."

She nods. "Okay. That's a good idea."

I bite my lip and look over to her. She's raising her eyebrows at me; I mirror her expression. "You go first," I tell her.

"No. You." And we're back to her cold voice. I shrug and shake off the iciness of her tone.

"Fine. What is your favorite color?" I ask, starting out with an easy one.

"Green," she sighs effortlessly. I turn to her and watch as a small smile forms on her lips like she's remembering something. And again, I'm struck by just how beautiful she is. I forgot, with all the surliness and coldness, but every inch of her olive skin was carved by angels.

"How old are you?" Her soft voice pulls me out of my not so innocent thoughts.

"Twenty-four," I answer with a nod of my head. "Favorite book?"

"_The Wind in the Willows_," she replies instantly. I turn to her again, surprise on my face. Wow. I never would have thought. I used to love that book when I was a kid. She raises her eyebrows at me, challenging me, but I don't say a word. "What's your favorite type of weather?"

I frown, pondering her question. "Rain, I think. It's refreshing, and I love the smell. But I enjoy the sun as well." I scratch my chin. "Would you rather eat a cup of mayonnaise or drink a cup of vinegar?"

"That's fucking disgusting," she says, but her tone isn't hard like before. It's still musical and warm. "Drink the vinegar, I suppose."

"What was your major in college?" she asks, slipping off her sandals and curling her feet under herself.

"Business. I wanted to be able to handle the bakery and have it continue to thrive once my dad passes it over to me." She nods at my explanation. And it's true. All I've ever wanted was to run the bakery some day, and lucky for me, my two brothers didn't want anything to do with it. "Favorite poet?"

We go back and forth, answering favorite authors and movies and names of childhood pets. With each passing question, Katniss relaxes more and more, and I find myself able to laugh _with_ her, and not just at myself. Her laugh is just as musical as her voice, but it's high in comparison; it causes goosebumps to rise on my skin.

"What's your favorite position?" Katniss asks as her nineteenth question, and practically choke on my own tongue. This girl _seriously_ wants to know that after she thought I was some sort of sexual deviant earlier? She needs to sort out her priorities.

"Seriously?" I question, making sure she actually wants to know this. She nods, her eyebrows challenging me infuriatingly. She doesn't think I'll do it. Well, I guess I'll have to prove her wrong. I turn my eyes back on the road and speed pass a grandma in a small blue Chevy truck. "Cowgirl."

She's silent for only a moment, before she says, "Why? I thought that was supposed to be a girl's favorite position." She places her bare feet on my dash; her toes are a deep purple.

"Are you using that as your final question?" I inquire, raising my eyebrow. I seem to be doing that a lot with this woman.

She flings out her arms nonchalantly. "Sure. Why is that your favorite position?"

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, nervous sweat forming on my upper lip. I've never explained this to a girl before, only Gale and Finnick, and they could see where I was coming from. I fight the urge to avoid it and take a deep breath before I speak, "Honestly, how could I not like it? The girl is riding you, her body open and exposed. You get to watch everything; her expressions, her breasts, yourself sliding into her. You get her know her more intimately than you can in any other position because she's in control, and she shows you exactly how she likes it."

Katniss is silent for a long time after, and I'm afraid I've crossed some line. I don't normally talk about sex so openly—I think it should be kept between the two people doing it. But she encouraged me. And I'm trying to remind myself of that fact, in case she decides to throw it in my face later. I've only known her for a short period of time, but she seems like the kinda girl that would do that.

"I get it," she says finally, with a shrug of her shoulders.

And I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank the lord that went over well.

* * *

I pull into a crappy motel a little before eleven, when we are officially out of Oklahoma, and park the car in front of the entry way so I can run inside to get us a room. There's no point in setting up a tent tonight when we're surrounded by cheap motels that run for forty-five bucks a night, and honestly, my back is cramped from driving for five hours and I could use a bed. I don't even want to think about how it's going to take the nine hour drive I have planned for tomorrow.

When I return with the key, I pull the jeep into the slot designated for room 13 and turn off the engine. Katniss gathers her bag from the backseat, and I grab my duffle, and together we enter exit the car. It takes a couple jiggles before the key turns fully in the ancient lock, but it does eventually, and the two of us plow into the room, immediately searching for the light switch.

When I flip it on, it reveals a small room with dust colored carpet and walls with peeling flowered wallpaper. But the beds themselves, though smaller than expected, are impeccably clean and actually look quite comfortable. I practically sigh at the sight of them.

I throw myself down on the bed closest to the window, and actually sigh. I think I'm in heaven. It's even better than I hoped. Katniss mumbles something about getting changed and sneaks into the bathroom. I open my eyes and scan the room before I jump up off the bed and open up the window just a crack. I unzip my pants and slip them off, tossing them on my bag next to the bed and then pull off my shirt over my head. I hope Katniss doesn't mind me sleeping in my boxers. I don't want to make her uncomfortable, but it's too hot to sleep with pants and a shirt on.

I snatch my toothbrush from my bag, along with my mint toothpaste, and walk to the small sink that's tucked into the corner next to what looks like a crack stove. I brush my teeth rapidly and try not to listen to Katniss in the bathroom that is now only a few feet away from me.

It's not until I'm under the sheets of my bed and staring at the TV that Katniss reemerges from the bathroom. My mouth instantly dries at the sight of her. She's wearing small green and blue striped sleep shorts and baggy t-shirt; but by the way it rests on her frame, it's apparent that she isn't wearing a bra. My cock twitches in my boxers, but I instantly begin to recite the pledge of allegiance in my head, cursing at my junk for acting like I'm back in middle school just at the sight of a girl in shorts.

I watch as she plops down in the middle of her bed and sits cross-legged, facing my direction. She twirls the end of her braid in her hand, and pulls her bottom lip into her mouth. She's nervous.

"Can I do something for you?" I ask, trying to put her at ease. She's probably not comfortable with me being practically naked only a few feet next to her, but honestly, I could say the same thing.

"I just feel like a dick about earlier," she exhales, her body sagging. "I shouldn't have assumed you wanted to bang me. I mean, could I sound more full of myself?"

I'm surprised, no doubt, that she's kind of apologizing to me. I shake my head. "No, I'm sure that's not why you thought that. I've only just met you, but I can tell you aren't conceited."

She nods, but she's still biting her lip. "I just," she starts, "I don't like accepting help. And I know most people expect some kind of reward when they do favors, and I couldn't think of anything I could give you. So I just assumed that _you_ would assume I would have sex with you."

Jesus, what kind of people does she hang out with? "Katniss, I'm sorry that you've never been with someone who doesn't expect a favor in return. But, honestly, I don't. I just want to help you with this trip and I swear I'm not going to take advantage of you."

She seems to believe me, or at least she doesn't refute my statement, because she doesn't say anything else; she just slips under her sheets and curls up on her side, facing the opposite direction. I turn off the TV, my fatigue setting in, and flip over onto my stomach.

Katniss Everdeen is throwing me for a loop, to say the least. She's cold and mean one minute, and then she's laughing and smiling the next. She accuses me of expecting sexual favors and then she apologizes—though she never actually said the words "I'm sorry".

She's an enigma, to say the least.

And I can't help but be intrigued.

* * *

It's not until we are cruising down the freeway the next afternoon and I'm sipping cheap coffee, that I bring up my idea.

I clear my throat. "So do you have a deadline?" I ask, raising my voice over the soft classical that plays out of the stereo speakers.

Katniss whirls her face to me, her braid whipping around. I wonder why she always wears it that way. "Deadline for what?"

"For getting to Maine or getting back to Oklahoma."

She shakes her head and takes another drink of her cup of black tea with about a thousand packets of sugar. "No. I just wanted to get this over with and move on with my life."

I'm surprised by the bored, cold tone of her voice. How could she be so stale? But then again, I don't know how I would react if everyone I loved died; I shiver at the thought. But maybe I'd be just like her.

"So you would be okay if we went on a little detour of sorts?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I guess it depends on where the detour was."

"New York City, I was thinking."

Katniss runs her calloused finger around the lip of her cup, nibbling on her bottom lip. What I wouldn't do to be able to listen to her thoughts. "That could be fun," she acquiesces, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. She turns her gaze back over to me; I fidget under her scrutinizing expression. "Why did you agree to take me on this trip?"

"I…" I trail off. But then I decide to just go for it anyway. "I got dumped. Cheated on, actually, and then dumped. I thought it would be best if I just got away for a while and tried to sort things out on my own. I don't—" I stop myself. No. We don't know each other that well yet. She probably still thinks I wanna get in her pants.

"Don't what?" she asks, sympathetic curiosity in her tone.

I shake my head. "Never mind. The point is I'm off women right now. And this trip will allow me the space I need to follow through with that."

She's quiet for a long time. I cruise into the carpool lane, change the radio station to something a little more upbeat and put on a boatload of chapstick before she speaks again.

"You realize I'm a girl," she whispers, twiddling with the end of her braid again.

I bark out a laugh. "I did, actually. But you made it abundantly clear that you aren't interested and so I'm trying not to be too." Fuck. Did I just say that out loud? Please tell me that didn't sound as creepy as I imagined. I squeeze my eyes shut momentarily, cursing myself for being such a moron.

She sighs and shifts in her seat, leaning back into the leather. "My, uh, last boyfriend, um, cheatedonmetoo." The last half of her sentence she speaks so fast, I'm barely able to make it out. But I do. What an asshole. Not to sound shallow or anything, but how could someone cheat on woman as beautiful as her?

"I'm sorry, Katniss. The guy was obviously a fuckhead and not good enough for you."

I glance in her direction, and lock eyes with her striking, stormy ones. I try to ignore the pounding in my chest, but I can't. She's absolutely beautiful. I can't deny that. But she'd break me too. They all do.

I turn back to the road and let the silence overwhelm me.

* * *

Katniss sets up our tent in exactly seven minutes. By herself. I left to grab some of the free firewood the campsite provided, stacked against the restroom wall, and when I returned she was zipping it closed with a satisfied smile on her face.

We didn't get as far as I had intended today. The traffic was shit—a bridge was being rebuilt or something—so when the sun started to descend in the sky, I figured it was time to find a campsite. I was tired and achy, and Katniss had started to nod off in her seat.

"I'm guessing you've done this before?" I ask as I let the wood topple out of my arms and into the fire pit.

She nods, her smile now ghosting on her lips. "My dad—," she stops, a look of surprise on her face as if she didn't intend to reveal that, and shakes her head.

I nod, unable to think of anything to say. It's obviously a touchy subject, and I don't want her to feel uncomfortable.

"Here," I break the silence and lean down to grab the bag of goodies my father packed us yesterday. They might be a tad stale, but they are still delicious. I mean, how could they not be? They are Mellark recipes. I pass the bag to Katniss. "We should eat something and head to bed. Maybe read a little if you brought a book."

She sits down on a log in front of the pit and slips her hand into the bag as I get to work on the fire. I've never been really good as building fires, but I learned how to do it in this survival class Finnick begged me to take with him. We spent the entire weekend running through the woods, lighting campfires, roasting hotdogs and getting drunk. Well they got drunk. I just watched Finnick make a fool out of himself.

I sit down across the fire from her and we eat quietly once I've finally got the fire started. Croissants, rolls, cookies and well as two loaves of sourdough are in the bag my father packed for us, along with various other goodies. Hopefully we can stop at a grocery store tomorrow and buy a cooler along with some drinks and sandwich fixings for lunches and snacks on the road.

"I love the stars," I whisper to myself. They look so promising tonight. They're crystals in the deep cave of the sky, glittering down at me. I always feel insignificant when I look at them, but I think it's a good thing. I think our problem as humans is that we feel important—most important. But the stars humble me. I feel small when I'm under them, and I like it.

"Meet too." I bring my eyes back to her and watch the shadows from the fire ignite her beautiful features. I didn't realize I said it loud enough for her to hear but I'm glad I did. I like having things in common with Katniss Everdeen.

When my stomach is full of carbs, the two of us crawl into the tent. It's relatively small, but there is still a good amount of space so it won't feel crowded and awkward.

"I'll, uh, turn around so you can change," I mutter as I turn myself to stare into the corner on my side. I can hear her shuffle around and the distinct sound of her belt buckle hitting the floor and I try to think about anything else. Anything but the fact that there's a gorgeous woman stripping not three feet from me. I'm so fucked. I can feel my cock harden in my jeans, and I'm officially pissed off at my body's betrayal.

"I'm done." Her melodic voice interrupts my internal berating, and I nod my head. I strip off my shirt and slowly pull off my jeans, still facing away from her, and slip into my sleeping bag before she can see that I'm at half-mast just because the sound her belt makes.

When my lower body is covered, I roll over on my side to face her. She's in her sleeping bag too, a book in her delicate hands and a flashlight in her mouth so she can read the pages. Her hair isn't in a braid like it normally is, but spread out on her pillows—a halo of chocolate waves.

Her book is well-loved copy of _On the Road _by Jack Kerouac. The spine is bent is a dozen different places, the cover full of wrinkles and marks, but it's still together. She holds it with careful and caring hands, and I know it must be special to her. I think about grabbing my sketchbook from my duffle, but I decide against it. I'm too enthralled by Katniss.

And that's how I fall asleep.

* * *

**Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm laying the groundwork right now, and I hope you like it. The next chapters you get to know them more and I think you'll love it. :D Thanks for following, reviewing and favoriting! You rock! **


	3. Chapter 3

"We could get to NYC tonight if you wanted to," I say as we hop into the jeep after munching on a breakfast consisting of the banana nut bread my father packed for us. Katniss shrugs her shoulders. "Or we could stay somewhere else tonight and get there early tomorrow morning so we can spend the whole day exploring the city."

"The second," Katniss says simply. She's a woman of few words, that one. I smile to myself and turn the key in the ignition—the engine roars to life.

The roads get busier as we drive closer to the coast. Katniss unravels the map from my glove compartment on her lap, unfortunately so it covers her enticingly tanned thighs, and makes sure we are heading in the right direction. We make the decision to stop in Trenton, NJ for the night, which is only about an hour out of New York.

"How are your brothers?" Katniss asks as we speed through Columbus, Ohio. I turn my face to her briefly, surprised that she knows I have any.

"Uh, they're good. Rye is living in LA, working at some ad agency, and Thomas is married and living in Texas with two kids."

She nods her head, causing some of her hair to slip out of her braid. "My mom used to tell me about them. You."

My eyebrows fly up. "Really?" I'm pretty sure my voice is an octave higher than it normally is, but I try not to focus on that. Katniss was told about me. I like that.

"Yeah, just kind of an update on what you were up to. But she hadn't done that since my sister…" she trails off and turns her face to look out her window, officially closing herself off. But I don't want that. I want to get to know her. I'm sure why, but it feels important.

"Prim, right?" I ask. She doesn't say anything; she pulls hers knees into her chest, like she's trying to hold herself together. "My father showed me some pictures of the two of you years ago and I remember being mesmerized by her blue eyes; she seemed so delicate and innocent. She looked so happy—the opposite of most people in those required school pictures."

She still doesn't say anything but I see the corner of her mouth turn up in a smile. So I continue.

"My dad said that she was on the soccer team and she loved it, but she was terrible. Your mother couldn't count the number of scratches she had to mend all over her body." I have no idea where this is all coming from, but I'm suddenly remembering the stories my father has told me; stories that I don't even recall hearing, but I can invoke the information. It's a little nonsensical, but if Katniss is responding, I'm not going to question how the hell this is happening. "My dad once told me a story that she found a goat on the side of the road and she begged your mother to let her take it home and keep as a pet. And she apparently did the same with a flea-ridden cat." Katniss is full on smiling now and I can feel my heart pound in my chest at the sight of it. I've never seen her smile that big, and it's so unbelievably mystifying and beautiful.

"She was special," she whispers so low I barely catch it.

"She sounded like it."

Hesitantly, and without reason, I reach a shaky hand across the space between us and tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear; it's extraordinarily silky between my fingers. I don't look at her face, scared of what I'd find there, and but I can't help but let my hand linger down the smooth skin of her neck before I bring it back to the steering wheel.

The car is eerily silent. The radio is suddenly static and I smash the off button, annoyance and anger at myself welling inside me. Good fucking job. I probably scared the shit out of her and she'll never open up to me at all.

"I loved her more than anyone," she finally whispers. "I miss her every day." I hear the tears in her voice and I have the sudden urge to pull the car off the road and wrap my arms around her. I don't know why I'm having these feelings for a girl I just met, but they are there and they are powerful. "I can't believe I'm telling you this—I don't even know you," she says, her voice louder and full of disbelief. Maybe she feels the same way I do; that I'm drawn to her and I don't even know why.

"You can tell me anything," I tell her, and I mean it. God, help me, I mean it.

She nods her head, but she doesn't say anything else. She turns back on the radio and I watch as she reaches into the pocket of her jean shorts and pulls out her iPod. She plugs it into the stereo and I wait patiently. Soon, the soft sounds of an acoustic guitar fill the car and a smile tugs on my mouth.

"I love Mumford & Sons," I murmur. And again, I can't help but love having things in common with Katniss Everdeen.

* * *

The drive is too long—it's a little over ten hours until we are pulling into a hotel. Unfortunately there aren't any campsites nearby, so we have to just bite the bullet and the price tag. We only made one quick pit-stop at a grocery store in Schlusser, PA to go to the bathroom and grab some snacks—I was craving sunflower seeds like a bitch and Katniss wanted some powdered doughnuts—but besides that we basically drove straight through.

The drive wasn't uncomfortable. We didn't have any more heart-to-hearts, but we chatted about small things, and I'm starting to realize that getting Katniss to talk about anything at all is a miracle. So I'm puzzlingly pleased with chatting to her about movies and the last Olympics. I still don't how her mother or her sister died, but hopefully we'll get there in time. I want to know everything about her.

"I'll check us in," Katniss says, unbuckling herself and yawning loudly as I put the jeep into park in front of the lobby doors. It's almost nine o'clock, but it feels so much later. I nod my head and reach into my back pocket, handing my wallet with my father's card over to her. She smiles at me softly and with a nod of her head, she leaves me alone.

I watch the delicate sway of her hips as she opens the glass doors to the lobby and makes her way to the front desk. I realize she's not as tall as I thought—maybe around 5' 3"—but the way that she holds herself doesn't really fit it. Her presence is commanding and strong, even when we are in a cramped car.

I'm spacing off hardcore, staring into the hotel, when there's suddenly movement in the corner of my eye. It's Katniss. She's waving her arm at me urgently, motioning me to come in. I step out of the car, my knees and back cracking loudly, and cross the paved sidewalk and into the lobby. It's decorated in a beach theme: palm tree wallpaper and aqua blue carpet. It hurts my eyes.

"What's going on?" I ask when I've reached her.

"Oh, they just needed to see you so they didn't think I'd jacked your wallet," she says, twirling the end of her braid around her finger. I nod at the guy behind the counter. His face is sunken in and his eyes are a little buggy, but he looks like a nice dude.

"Here I am," I say, trying to smile, but it's interrupted when I yawn widely. Shit, I'm tired.

The man smiles back. "Okay, so that's a one bedroom with a king size bed for one night, is that right?" he asks.

I frown. "Um, no, we need a room with two doubles, please."

The guy instantly gets a panicked look on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. We don't have any of those available. There's comic book convention down the road and I'm afraid we're booked solid—except this room. It's our last one."

"Well do you have any of those pull-out bed things?" Katniss asks, her voice cold and commanding. I see the guy reel back a little bit. Yeah, I feel your pain, brother. You don't expect a girl who looks like Katniss to make you feel like a little kid.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. Those are all taken as well."

I sigh, running my hand through my hair. "Okay, we'll take it." Katniss turns to me, her eyes surprised and cold. "We don't have any other options," I tell her, "I can just sleep on the floor."

She doesn't respond. She faces the clerk again and ignores me as she waits for him to give us the keys.

As soon as he does, we get back into the jeep and pull it into the last available parking spot in the corner of the L-shaped hotel. We trek up the stairs to the second floor, bags in hand, and make our way down the carpeted landing to get to room 234.

As soon I unlock the door with the slide-y key, my stomach clenches. The king size bed looms in the center of the room, taunting me. The comforter is decorated in waves and pink flamingos, going along with the beach theme, and piled with a plethora of pillows. Katniss nudges her way into the room past me, slamming the door behind her.

She throws her bag down the bed and begins to dig through it.

"I'm gonna take a shower," I tell her, and make my way into the small bathroom. It's covered floor to ceiling in sand-colored tiles, and I immediately strip down and hop into the small, glass shower. I wash myself as fast as I can with my aching arms, and let the scalding hot water beat down on my stiff muscles. But I'm too tired to stay in here long—just standing on my feet is exhausting.

I turn off the water and dry my skin with the scratchy towel provided, then slip into a clean pair of boxers.

I step out of the bathroom, rubbing my sore back with my left hand. Katniss is already in bed, propped up against the headboard with a book in her lap—but her gaze is fixed on me; I stop in my tracks. She's nibbling on her bottom lip—her nervous tick—and I have no idea why.

"I was thinking," she says, releasing her lip as she begins to run her fingers through her hair, separating her loose braid. "You shouldn't have to sleep on the floor."

I jerk in surprise. "What?" Is she serious?

She nods. "It's obvious that your back is hurting, and this bed is huge. We won't even be able to tell the other person is in it." Her eyes narrow. "But if you make a move, I _will_ chop your nuts off."

I want to hesitate as the million possible scenarios of this going down badly run through my head, but I can't. My back is sore and I'm so tired. I'm gonna pass out in three seconds anyway and she's right, I'll never notice how close she is. I nod. "Okay, thanks."

I cross to the other side of the bed, setting my duffle down next to it, and crawl on. The mattress is springy and soft, and I sigh at the relief I can already feel in my limbs.

I lay down on my back and instantly my eyes flutter closed. I feel Katniss shift around beside me, but I can't focus on what she's doing. Then, when I'm seconds away from falling asleep, I hear something startlingly divine.

Katniss is singing. Softly, almost like she doesn't know she's doing it. I can't hear what the lyrics are or identify what song it is, but it is so bewitching. My eyes fly open and I turn my body in her direction, needing to be closer to the melodic tone of her voice. I should have known she was a singer—just her speaking voice is unbelievably musical. But I never imagined I would ever, in my whole life, hear something as angelic as this.

She doesn't notice that I'm watching her; she's too busy reading and singing, but I am, and it's an unbelievable sight.

"You're so beautiful," I exhale, closing my eyes again.

And then I'm out.

* * *

Something smacks my shoulder and I jerk awake, sitting up. I forget where I am momentarily, but my eyes slowly focus on the gigantic palm tree that covers the wall in front of me and remember. Trenton, NJ. Sleeping in king size bed with Katniss. Wait, where's?—I look to the left of me and see why I woke up in the first place: Katniss. She's thrashing around, her face covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead. She's moaning quietly, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and her arms flailing. She must be having a nightmare or something.

I shift closer to her, and try to shake her awake, but she just keeps whimpering and tossing around. My heart contracts in my chest at the sight of this strong, hard-ass woman whining and cowering. "Katniss," I call, shaking her again; still she doesn't wake. I say her name again, louder, pushing her hair away from her face.

"Katniss, please," I plead.

Her eyes fly open, and land on mine. Terror lives in her silver eyes, and I find myself moving closer to her, my hand wrapping around her stomach and resting on her left hip. I need to take her pain away.

"I—I-I," she stutters, but her mouth never forms any words.

"Shh," I tell her, caressing her forehead. "You just had a nightmare, you'll be okay. It's not real."

She continues to gasp for air, and I can't help but glance down at her sweat-soaked shirt clinging deliciously to her chest. Her nipples are straining against the fabric, and I lick my lips at the sight without making a conscious decision to do so. But I quickly ignore how sexy her body is and bring my eyes back to hers. They stay locked on mine, but the fear hasn't drained a bit—she still looks terrified.

So I say the first thing that pops into my head: "I'll protect you."I have no idea what it means, to be honest, but weirdly, I feel it. I want to tear whatever it is that is torturing her out of her head. Her eyes dilate quickly, and I see some tension fade in her shoulders, her neck becoming less strained.

"Go back to sleep, Katniss," I whisper, tucking her hair behind her ears. She gives a shaky nod of her head and closes her eyes again.

I lie down next to her, resting on my side, but keep my hands on her hip and on her forehead. I stay awake until her breathing evens out again, and I know for certain that she's out. Then I let the warmth of her body lull me back to sleep.

* * *

When the alarm goes off the next morning, I fling out my right arm and smash it until it turns off. I blink my eyes open, letting them adjust to the sunlight streaming through the front windows. I yawn, my chest rising—but there's an unusual weight on it. And that's when I notice it. _Her._

Katniss is lying on top of me, her head resting in the middle of my sternum. Her arms are wrapped around my bare stomach and her legs are intertwined with mine. I realize that my left hand is woven into her silky hair, holding her to me.

And it's heavenly.

Her skin feels so perfect against mine and it looks amazing too—olive vs. fair. She's clinging to me—like she needs me—and I wish she did. Wait, what?

Katniss nuzzles her face into my chest, and my thoughts are scattered. But after a few moments, I feel her whole body stiffen; she must come to the realization that she's lying on a human, not a pillow. She tears her body away from me, rolling over to the complete opposite side of the bed.

"I'm sorry," she says immediately, running a hand through her velvet locks, avoiding my gaze.

I shake my head. "No need."

Her eyes move to me and she tilts her head, a confused expression taking over her face—mellowing her scowl, but never hindering her beauty. What is she thinking? But she shakes her head, dismissing something, and crawls out of bed. She walks into the bathroom and closes the door.

And I'm inexplicably cold.

* * *

**Hey guys! I hope you liked this chapter. Thank you so much for reviewing, favoriting and following! And hopefully I'll get another, longer chapter out in a less than a week!**

**Tumblr:****_ books-are-better_**


	4. Chapter 4

"It won't happen again."

I turn my face to Katniss, ignoring the road for a moment. We're stuck in traffic anyway, so it's not like there's much to see. This is first time she's spoken since she apologized this morning for wrapping around me like a vine in her sleep—which was completely unnecessary in the first place. I'm trying not to admit to myself that I've never felt more content and comfortable in my entire life than I did when I woke up with her in my arms. Never. Not even with the girls I've previously dated. But I like I said, I'm trying not to admit that.

"What?" I ask, watching her twirl the end of her braid in her fingers.

"I won't…cling to you like that. It was a total invasion of privacy." She bends her knees and pulls them under herself.

"Honestly, it wasn't a big deal. I didn't…mind it." Yeah, mind it. Wow, I'm an idiot. But it's better than saying it was like holding onto forever for a brief moment in time. Fuck, that's cheesy. What the hell has gotten in to me? I barely know this girl.

She whirls her upper body in my direction, and her eyes fly to mine. They are wide and filled with some emotion that I can't identify.

"It's just," I say, trying to back pedal, "I'm here for you, okay? I know that we don't know each other all that well, but I can be here for you if you need me. I _want_ to be leaned on by you." That didn't sound too creepy, right?

Her eyes linger on me for a moment longer, then fall down to her lap. "They don't happen too often—the nightmares," she whispers. I find myself leaning towards her, eager to hear what she has to say. I can't believe she's letting me support her. "But I've been dealing with them since my dad." She fidgets, pulling at her braid again. "I'm not used to…having help with them. Everyone I've lived with has just gotten used to them, and has basically ignored them. But last night, it was…_nice._" She finishes her sentence with a shiver.

"I meant what I said, Katniss," I say, unable to control the words. "I'll protect you in any way I can."

She turns her face back to me, her lips twitching with a smile she's trying to contain. "I'm getting that."

The rest of the drive is silent, but it's not uncomfortable like it was before. We are both so transfixed with the scene around us. Skyscrapers and old buildings and billboards and lights and people surround us.

"Let's find a hotel and then explore," I say as we're stopped at another red light. "My friend told me about a cheap place down by central park."

"Sounds good." She takes deep breath and exhales loudly. "I could never live in a place like this. Too many people."

"Where would you wanna live?"

"I'm not sure. I like where I am now, I suppose. I just want to be near the wilderness."

I want to ask why, but she turns up the music, officially ending the conversation. I follow the signs and the scribbled directions Finnick wrote for me on the back of a receipt for magnum condoms (thanks for that image, Finn) to get to central park and the hotel.

It's a shithole. I can already tell from the dilapidated building covered in moss or mold or something poisonous. But whatever. It'll do. I turn my jeep into the small underground parking lot; it feels like we barely make it under height maximum.

Katniss and I both get out of the car, and she grabs a small over-the-shoulder purse from the backseat before we head into the elevator.

It isn't long before we have our keys and I decide to run back out to the cars to get our bags while Katniss checks out our room. It's on the fourth floor, so I take the creepy, red-carpeted elevator up to it with our bags slug over my shoulders.

The room actually isn't too bad. It's a large improvement from the lobby and the outside. It's small—the two beds only about a foot from each other—but at least it isn't decorated in a cheery beach theme. It just has white walls and an emerald carpet. The comforters on the bed are also green, and there's a small TV sitting on top of a large dresser. I've never understood why they put dressers in hotels. I've never heard of someone putting their clothes there. Maybe they do it so it seems more like a normal bedroom instead of a place where who knows how many people have done God knows what.

Katniss is sitting on the bed closest to the door, her legs crossed. I set her bag down beside her before moving to the other bed where I throw mine carelessly.

When I turn back around to Katniss, she's watching me with a sad expression. But when I open my mouth to ask her what's wrong, her face immediately hardens—transforming into a blank slate. So I drop it. But her eyes—they continue to tell all. She glances at my bed and then hers and release a quiet, uncomfortable noise from the back of her throat. What does that mean exactly? But she stands up and heads to the bathroom without another word.

It's sweltering here, a juxtaposition to the air-conditioned jeep, so I tear off my long sleeve shirt and begin to rifle through my bag for something else to wear.

"Hey, Peeta?" Katniss storms back into the room, her voice urgent, and I quickly turn around, alert.

"Yes?" I question. But she doesn't say anything. I watch her beautiful face flush as her eyes flick down my bare front before they meet mine again. I feel a flutter in my stomach.

Maybe I'm not the only one that's experiencing some attraction.

She bites her lower lip and I twitch in my khakis. Fuck, that's hot. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, cutting off my thoughts. "I forgot what I was gonna say."

She turns and goes back to the bathroom. And I'm wearing a grin so big my cheeks ache.

* * *

We try to fit in everything. And we stick out as sore thumbs—obviously tourists with our "I heart NYC" hats and our cell phones constantly snapping pictures. Katniss looks happy. Actually happy. I've seen her look sad and worried and angry and scared and amused—but never unwavering happiness. We take the corny picture with the fake Empire State Building while we're there. We listen to the soft acoustic music as we sit at the Lennon memorial at Strawberry Fields in Central Park. We point at our favorite advertisements on Times Square and we both giggle when we get lost on the subway.

When the sun starts to set, and we're leaving Chinatown with full bellies, Katniss puts her head on my shoulder as we sit on the subway. She must be tired.

"Let's get a drink somewhere," she says. Okay, so maybe she's not tired.

I'm a little confused by her actions, but I don't dare shift away. I want this. "Okay. We'll find a bar close to the hotel," I tell her. I move my arm so it rests on the back of the plastic seat, eager to feel her press close to me. And to my surprise, she does.

We had fun today, no doubt. We laughed and talked and saw beautiful things I may never see again—and maybe she's starting to be more comfortable with me because of it. Or maybe it's because of her nightmare last night. Maybe she's realizing that I meant what I said both yesterday and this morning—that I'll protect her. Whatever the reason behind her touching me, I'm ecstatic to feel the heat of her body against mine and the breathe in the smell of peach that lingers in her hair and on her skin.

There's a small but crowded bar on the block on which our hotel is located called _The Hob_. It's a bit of a dive, but Katniss doesn't really seem like the kind of girl that fancies clubs—in fact, her eyes turn a silver white when she sees a jazz band playing on the small stage amidst the grungy décor. People are dancing all over the space, so we weave through them and head to the bar.

A tall man with chocolate skin approaches us. He wipes the wood of the bar with a discolored rag and shines us a powerful smile. "Can I get you anything?" His voice is rough like sandpaper.

"Six shots of Jimmy Beam," Katniss calls over the loud wail of a saxophone. I turn to her with wide eyes, surprised a little thing like her could possibly stand that. She just raises her eyebrows, challenging me again. But there's no way I'm gonna tell Katniss what to do. I can tell she's used to making decisions for herself—probably longer than she should have had to.

"And I'll have a Jack and coke," I chime in.

It doesn't take long before he slides my drink across the bar and lines up Katniss' shots and begins to fill them to the brim.

"You might not be able to handle that, little lady," the guy says, eyeing Katniss in a way I really don't like as she picks up her first shot. "You look like the type that doesn't know her limits."

She narrows her eyes at him. "If I get sick, I'll flash the bar." And then she tosses all six shots back in rapid succession.

My mouth drops in surprise at the way she drinks and at the thought of seeing her bare chest.

The bartender takes away the empty shot glasses with a smile on his face. "Deal." They shake on it.

She places her hand on my bicep, bringing me out of my daze of wonderment and horniness. I meet her grey eyes, and she jerks her head towards the dancing throng of people a couple yards away. I quickly down my drink and as soon as I set the empty glass on the counter she tugs me to the dance floor.

When we are in the middle of the mess, she presses her body to mine. I can tell the alcohol is already starting to set in, her eyes becoming glassy. But I'm not a saint. And I'm going to take advantage of a drunk Katniss and dance with her a little more intensely than I probably should.

I grab her hands and lift them, setting them around my neck. Her fingers immediately weave into the hair at my nape. I slide my hands down her silky arms, caressing her olive skin. I continue to trail them down her sides, slowly fingering her ribs through her skin-tight shirt, until my hands land on her hips. Then I shift them to her ass and pull her pelvis to mine.

The music changes to sultry jazz tune and the people around us immediately pair off and begin to dance like Katniss and I are—close and personal.

I lean down and press my forehead against hers as our hips begin to swivel together in a very dirty way. She raises her eyes from the sight of us pressed together and meets my gaze. Her pupils are dilated and her irises are so silver their blinding. She presses her chest to mine and I feel her nipples pebble against my skin.

I can feel myself harden in my jeans, and begin to pull away—but she stops me. She glides her fingers down my shoulders and back until they slip into my back pockets. And she squeezes my ass.

"Fuck," I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut. I don't know where her surge of confidence is coming from, or mine for that matter, but it's both an amazing and a fucking terrible idea. There's no way anything between us could ever end happily.

We dance the night away. Unfortunately for me, Katniss never gets sick so she doesn't have to flash me and the rest of the bar. But she's definitely drunk as she stumbles the half-block to our hotel room. I try to keep her in my reach, but as soon as we exited the dance floor she went back to being her closed-off self and spins out of my grasp.

When we get back to the room, she strips off her clothes in front of me instead of hiding in the bathroom like she normally does. I try not to stare as I cross the room and begin to disrobe myself, but it's hard. Her breasts look amazing and perfectly lifted in her lacy powder blue bra. When I'm in my boxers, I crawl under the covers to the farthest edge of the bed away from her and stare out of the window at the city.

I've always heard that NYC is supposed be alive at night but if it's true, these walls must be thick because I can hear anything but the soft rustling of Katniss behind me. The moon is barely visible out of the corner of the window sill, half of it hidden behind a skyscraper. It's bright and round and hopeful.

As soon as I close my eyes, I'm out.

* * *

I wake up to a shift on my bed. My eyes fly open and I narrow them at the clock in the side table. It's 3:00; I've been asleep for almost two hours. The bed moves again and I turn over to find Katniss sliding under my covers and resting her head down on the white pillow next to mine.

"I liked sleeping with you last night," she whispers as she moves closer to me. "I felt safe."

When we're only inches away, she turns around, facing away from me. Though I think it's what she wants, I'm half-asleep and still not even sure this isn't a dream; but hesitantly, I wrap my arm around her waist and press our practically naked bodies together.

Her body relaxes against me, and I feel her nudge her legs between mine. So much for her "it won't happen again" speech she gave me this morning. Not that I mind her sudden change of belief.

But it's not good. It can't be. Not with me.

Everything good that happens to me always ends in heartache.

* * *

**Hey guys! Sorry this is a short chapter, but I wanted to post something because it's been awhile. Thank for the favorites, follows and reviews! Expect more soon! **


	5. Chapter 5

When I open my eyes, I find Katniss staring at me. Her head rests on my shoulder and her grey eyes—so dark they're almost black—are locked onto mine. I brush the hair out of her face and behind her ear before I can stop myself. But she doesn't stop me; she just continues to stare.

"Nightmares?" I ask. I take in the rest of her body; her right arm is stretched across my chest and her right leg is hitched around my waist. Thank God I didn't get morning wood this morning or what would have been awkward.

"No," she whispers, blood rushing to her face. God, she looks so innocent when she blushes. I forget that she's only twenty. But she doesn't look it—and I'm apparently not the only one that thinks that considering she wasn't even carded last night.

"I'm glad."

She finally looks away from me and down to where her arm lies on my bare sternum. But she doesn't pull away, her grip tightens.

"I find myself wanting to touch you," Katniss says, avoiding my gaze.

My heartbeat picks up, now pounding in my chest. I want to touch her, too. And kiss her. And taste her. Fuck, I want to taste her so bad. But she's grieving. And clinging to the only companionship she has right now: me.

"You can touch me whenever you want," I tell her, trying not to sound too excited or too hesitant.

The truth is Katniss Everdeen is an enigma. She's cold one minute and hot the next. I never know what she's thinking. She changes her mind ever other second. She never reacts like I assume she will. She nibbles on her lip or fingers the end of her braid when she's nervous or uncomfortable—which seems to be all the time. She's unpredictable. She's half-insane.

She's different.

I like it.

But it makes me crazy too. I have no idea what's happening to me or to her and it's infuriating. But if she wants to hold me now, I'm going to revel in it. Because I understand that I don't really understand her, I get that she might not want to in ten minutes.

She nods into my shoulder, bringing me out of my head. "You can touch me, too," she murmurs as her body presses tighter against mine.

I wrap my arms around her bare back and just hold her to me. She doesn't have to tell me twice. I want to kiss her and taste her and take her, but right now, this is good enough. And maybe it always will be.

I turn on the TV so she doesn't get uncomfortable just laying here half-naked. She doesn't comment on it; she just turns her head to the small contraption resting on the dresser at the end of the bed. So wrapped up together, we watch reruns of _Gilmore Girls_ and nibble on the final leftover pastries my father packed for us.

Katniss doesn't move away from me the whole time and I find myself watching her more than the screen. Her braid unraveled sometime during the night, her hair now elegantly cascading over her shoulders and down her back. Her right arm has three large freckles that form a triangle right above her elbow. Her eyelashes are lighter than her actual hair, but delicate and lush. She her bottom lip is slightly bigger than her upper one and I can see that she has a small overbite. Her thighs aren't thin, but muscled and toned. And her calves are spotted with tiny scars that have obviously been there for a long time.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," she says, breaking our comfortable silence and forcing me to tear my gaze away from her tiny deep purpled painted toes. She's not looking at me; she's watching her fingers as they dance back and forth on my bare chest, above my heart.

"You want comfort," I answer for her, moving my hand so it rests on her knee. I'm still surprised she hasn't moved to get dressed yet. "And I told you, I went on this trip to help you. If that means I hold your half-naked body against mine—so be it."

She turns her face to me, a soft smirk on her lips. "Good to know."

I chuckle. "But all jokes aside, I'm here, Katniss. I truly mean that. I want you to trust me—and I hope we're getting there. I mean, look at us now. You obviously trusted me enough to admit that you needed someone to hold you and help you fight off your nightmares."

"I can't explain it—but I want to tell you things," she admits, turning her eyes back to her hand. "And I'm not used to wanting to talk to anyone. Not since Prim."

I take a shuddering breath. "I want to listen." More than anything.

Unfortunately, our moment is cut short when we remember we have to check out of the hotel at eleven. I dress slowly, dragging it out, hoping this time it won't end with Katniss going back to being distant. Not after I've finally pierced the veil. But she's Katniss. Incalculable.

"Ready?" I ask when my clothes are back in my bag and my teeth are brushed thoroughly.

She nods her head. Silent. My stomach drops; I can already feel her slipping through my fingers, closing herself off from me. I walk past her and into the hallway, eager to get back on the road to distract myself. But as we stand in the ugly elevator, waiting for it to descend, she slides her hand into mine. And it's not until we're fully checked out and have loaded our bags back in the jeep that she finally lets go.

I miss her immediately.

* * *

"They're expecting us tomorrow," she whispers as we pass through Nashua, New Hampshire. She plugged in her iPod hours ago, and currently playing through the speakers is some techno-alternative song I've never heard before. But I like it. "The sexton said everything would be ready then."

I nod my head, unsure what else there is to do. "Why Maine?" I ask instead.

A smile tugs on her mouth as she tugs on her braid. "It's where my parents met. My father grew up in Braintree, Massachusetts, a small mining town. But my mother was raised in Bar Harbor. She was from a wealthy family—they own a popular chain of drugstores in New England—and she met my father when he got a job in Bar Harbor for the summer. He worked at the marina where my mother's father kept his boat."

"Anyway, they fell in love and moved away, down to Oklahoma where my Dad was going to college. But they visited Bar Harbor every year on their anniversary. My grandfather sort of disowned my mother when she decided to marry my father, but when they continued to visit as the years passed, it made him realize that he wasn't just after her inheritance and they ended up getting along really well. He let my father be buried in the family plot, which is huge and has been in my family since like the birth of America. But yeah. That's why Maine."

"That's a great story," I say, smiling. I want a story like that. Meeting my wife in a place that's so ordinary but means so much. "So you want to stay somewhere else tonight?"

She bites her lip. "If it's not too much trouble, yeah. I don't know how long I can handle being there."

My heart drops to my stomach, my pain for her palpable. Before I even get the chance to reach for her, her hand is in mine and she's threading our fingers together. I squeeze them for reassurance, both for myself and her. She slips out of my grasp soon after.

She reaches into the glove box and grabs the folded up maps and begins rifling through them. I turn my eyes back to the road. I know that she said she wants to touch me—but what the hell does that actually mean? Is it going to continue to be these comforting hand touches or hugs or is it going to be more? Or is she going to stop all together soon?

"There's a little town called Biddeford that we could stop in tonight. It's like four hours from Bar Harbor," she says after she's inspected the roadmaps for at least ten minutes.

I run a hand through my hair and nod. "Sounds good."

It's only another hour and a half until we reach Biddeford, a relatively small town close to the coast. All the buildings look Victorian or made of old brick. It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it. I've lived in Oklahoma my whole life—never venturing out of the district where I was born. But given this opportunity with Katniss, I finally am. She may think that I'm doing her a favor, but in all honestly, she's doing me one too.

We pull into the first hotel we see, a Comfort Suites, and unload our bags and ourselves from the jeep. It's starting to feel redundant, this packing and unpacking. But I don't mind it. I could get used to living on the road. For as long as Katniss wants me, I'm here.

The lobby is all tan and white. Bland really, in comparison to the green lush that resides just outside the walls of the hotel. We approach the tall wooden desk slowly. The receptionist is a petite dark-skinned woman with crazy black curls sticking out all over her head. She looks young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, but she's gotta be in her early twenties.

She shines us her white teeth, her smile lighting up her small, delicate features. She's kind of looks like the opposite of Katniss, all innocent and tiny.

"Can I help you?" she asks. Her voice is smooth and high pitched, but not annoyingly so like Delly's was. My chest contracts at the memory of her.

"Yes, we'd like a room for the night please," I tell her, adjusting the strap on my shoulder. I would offer to hold Katniss's bag for her, but I have a feeling she wouldn't like it.

She begins typing on her keyboard, her fingers flying. "And how many beds?"

"One, please," Katniss chimes in, cutting me off.

I turn to her, shocked and amazed. I mean, it's one thing for her to crawl into my bed in the middle of the night, but just to openly decide she wants us to sleep together? That's an entirely different ballgame.

She raises her eyebrow at me. Not her usual challenging way but curiously, worried. I want to reach for her and rub away the worry lines on her forehead. But I don't think she'd like that. So I just try to smile at her as warmly as I can and nod my assent.

"You're all set!" the receptionist says, pulling my eyes away from Katniss's flushed cheeks. She slides two keycards across the marble counter and towards Katniss as I hand over my dad's card.

"Do you guys have room service?" Katniss asks as the receptionist, who I now see is named Rue on her gold nametag, as she continues to type at her computer.

She looks away from her screen and smiles at Katniss. "Absolutely. Our chef makes an excellent lamb stew."

She hands me back the credit card and points us towards the elevator and to our room. We're on the second floor, room 215. The suite is too large for only having one bed. The floor is covered in brown carpet, and has both a large desk and a red and gold striped couch in the front part of the room. We walk past them and into the back part, where the queen size bed with a gold bedspread and a million pillows resides; a large boudoir with a TV on it is positioned in front of it.

I set my bag next to the bed and Katniss does the same.

"I'm kind of starved," she says, flopping down on the bed.

"Me too," I agree. I walk to the small nightstand and open up the top drawer, searching for the room service menu. I would be fine going out and getting dinner at restaurant or something, but if Katniss wants to stay in the room and eat room service, I'll do that too.

The small binder containing the menu and other bullshit that no one ever reads rests in the drawer underneath the bible, so I pull it out and hand it over to Katniss, who's still lying on the bed. As she starts to flip through the pages, I leave her behind and go to the bathroom that's positioned by the door. I shut the door behind me and turn on the faucet full blast. Splashing my face with the cold water, I try to relax. Katniss has me on edge without even doing anything. She's just being herself, but being herself is getting under my skin and fucking with my brain. She's beautiful and snarky and cold and warm and different.

But I can't fall for her. Not again. Not right now. I've known nothing but hurt when it comes to women, and she wouldn't be any different. She won't be an exception. She'll leave me broken.

I turn off the water and look into the mirror. My hair is just as unruly as it's ever been and my cheeks are flushed, but from what I'm not sure. I shake my head, bringing my thoughts back to what's important. Katniss. I need to get my head in the game. I'm not going to push her away, but I can't let myself get too wrapped up in her. I have to be on edge. Be prepared.

I walk back to Katniss just as she sets down the receiver to our hotel phone.

"I ordered a cheeseburger for you—yesterday you said you were craving one."

"Thank you," I tell her, surprised that she even remembers me saying that. I don't even remember it. I reach for the remote on the nightstand and turn on the TV. "What did you get?" I plop down on the bed and stretch my legs out as I lean against the headboard.

"The lamb stew. I figured the receptionist probably knew what she was talking about." She rises from the bed and stretches her arms over her head, revealing a sliver of her olive stomach. "They said it would take about an hour, so I'm gonna shower."

I nod and turn my face back to the TV. I surf the channels, hoping to find something good to watch, but I don't. So I just turn it off. I crawl off the bed and rifle through my bag, searching for my sketchbook. I haven't had the opportunity to draw the last couple days, and my hand is itching for it. The black leather book rests at the bottom of the bag, and I snatch it out and resume my position back on the bed as I search for a pen in the nightstand.

I flip it to the first blank page and let my mind wander, conjuring up whatever it wants and translating it to the page. Most of the time, I don't really have something I want to draw. I just do whatever comes to my head. So I do that again.

The opening of the bathroom door jars me back into reality. I finally focus on what I've been drawing the last half hour and I instantly shut the book before she sees. My eyes fly to her as she exits the bathroom. And I feel my mouth drop open.

I mean, I know I've seen her in less and with more skin exposed, but holy fuck she's sexy. The small hotel-provided, white towel is tightly wrapped around her small frame and her chestnut hair is wet and tousled and hanging loosely around her wet, exposed shoulders.

I shift my sketchbook to fully cover my lap as my dick throbs in my jeans at the sight of her.

"Sorry, I forgot to grab my bag before I took my shower," she says and snatches it off the floor next to mine and heads back.

I groan. So much for being prepared.

* * *

The food is delicious. My burger is juicy and smothered in ketchup—just the way I like it. Katniss moans in approval as she sips her hot stew. Apparently the receptionist had it right.

When I'm stuffed beyond belief, I slip off my shoes and remove my jeans. It's almost nine o'clock, and Katniss has been blinking slowly for the last half an hour, fatigue setting in.

Katniss sees what I'm doing and begins getting ready too; she moves across the room and turns off the main light, so the only thing igniting the room is one small lamp and the glow from the TV.

I slip under the covers in my boxers and white t-shirt. I don't take off my shirt like I normally would, not wanting to make Katniss uncomfortable. I'm not sure how this thing is going to go. Is she going to curl up next to me? Snuggle? Be the little spoon? Big spoon? Ignore me until she wakes up from a nightmare? I don't know.

When Katniss gets back to the bed, she sheds her sweats; her deliciously small pajama shorts are underneath. She turns off the light on her nightstand and then joins me under the covers.

"I'm tired," she yawns, sinking into the mattress. I turn off the TV in response.

As soon as the room is pure darkness, my body relaxes. I turn on my side towards her, trying to get comfortable. I don't know what she's going to do, but I know this is how I like to sleep. I release a loud sigh as I close my eyes and allow sleep to take me.

"My memories of her always get worse at night."

Katniss's voice jerks me alive. I open my eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of her grey ones, but I can't. It's pitch black in here.

"It was a fire. She was having a sleepover at her best friend's house and there was an accident with a candle and the curtains or something and the whole house went up in flames. She was trapped a the room with her best friend. They both died. She was only fourteen."

Prim. My brain flashes with the school picture of her. Her innocent blue eyes and white-blonde hair.

My hand darts out, searching for Katniss. I need to hold her and take her pain away. I don't know what I touch, but I tighten my grip on it and pull her towards me. She throws her arms around my shoulders just as the sobs rack her body.

I squeeze her so hard it must hurt but I can't stop.

"Shh," I whisper, trying to soothe her. "I'm here. Just breathe."

"Why, Peeta?" she cries. Her nails dig into my shoulder blades. "Why did she go?"

"I'll never know," I tell her honestly, sliding my hand up her back slowly. "But she didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve it." I kiss the top of her head.

Her body ceases its trembling slowly, as well as her tears. When she finally pulls her face away from my shoulder, I tuck her bangs behind her ear and look down at her. I graze my thumb along her cheekbone, and remove the tears she missed.

"I don't know how I'm going to do it tomorrow," she whimpers. "My mom was fucked-up, but she was the last person I had."

"I'll be there," I say, pressing my lips to her forehead. "I won't leave you for a second."

She nods and places her head back down on the pillow. I remove my arms from her briefly to strip of my t-shirt, wet and sticky from her tears, but pull her back into them as soon as I can. She turns in my grasp so we're spooning and I bury my face in her neck.

I was fooling myself earlier. I'm going to make a mistake with Katniss.

I'm going to fall for her.

And I'm gonna break all over again.

* * *

**Hey guys! I hope you liked this chapter! A lot of you thought Katniss was going to run away after she crawled into bed with Peeta in NYC, but not in this story. It's going to be Peeta who's more hesitant, as you can see. Thanks for following, reviewing and favoriting. You are all awesome. **

**And I've officially decided this fic is going to be fifteen chapters. I think that will give me enough time to wrap up everything the way I want it!**

**Tumblr: ****_books-are-better_**


	6. Chapter 6

What I wouldn't give to be in the kitchen right now. Baking soothes me. It's simple. I understand it and it understands me.

What I don't understand is this. How tragedy strikes people who are so undeserving of it. This beautiful, caring, snarky girl is barely holding it together as it is—and now she has to bury the last person in her life she's ever loved. She doesn't deserve this. She deserves the world and all the good things that can happen in it. Not this.

Katniss turns around in bed, waking up, and I pretend like I haven't been watching her for the last half an hour, finishing the sketch I started last night. I didn't mean to, but my mind went to the curve of her lips and the arch of her eyebrow and now I have an almost complete sketch of the woman that occupies my thoughts, conscious and unconscious.

It's only five a.m., but I could barely sleep last night. After Katniss dozed off, I just laid there and listened to her deep breathing and the steady beat of her heart. I couldn't stop thinking about taking care of her and doing everything in my power to help her get through tomorrow—or today, now, I guess. Around four a.m. I gave up trying to get more than a half hour of rest at a time and decided to draw. Her face looks so serene when she sleeps, perfect for my sketch.

"There's some tea on the desk," I whisper, setting my sketchbook on the nightstand and shifting down until I'm completely submerged under the covers again. I lift my hand and set it on her warm neck, running my thumb along the line of her jaw.

She nods her head and closes her eyes again, but I know she won't be able to fall back asleep. She tossed and turned all night—a fitful sleep—but she never woke up. And now that she is, the memories that must have been whirling around her head as she slept are now running though it on overdrive.

She looks so peaceful right now with her eyes closed, her eyelashes fluttering against the skin underneath her eyes. But I know that feeling won't last. In a matter of hours she'll be sobbing against my chest once again, and it will take everything I have not to join her.

* * *

Dressed in black, we climb into the car. I've done everything for Katniss this morning. Ordered her food, making her eat it, pouring her tea, making her drink it, packing her bag, carrying her bag—everything and anything I was able to do for her, I did it. It's the only way I know how to help. And she's been in a zombie-like state, going through the motions. She pulled on her shirt and skirt over her head and braided her hair with an empty look on her face. I can't decide which is worse: the epic sobs or the catatonic state.

Both. Both are worse.

The ride is silent. No music. No traffic. Just an empty road and an empty space in my chest where my heart used to be. Katniss leans her forehead against her window, staring outside. I want to reach out and hold her hand or put her in my lap or wrap my arm around her, but I can't and it's killing me.

I told myself not to get attached to her, but it was hopeless. Beauty like that only comes into your life once and I have an eye for beauty. I never thought it was a weakness before—more of a gift. Until Katniss. She's not what I want; I don't want anything right now. But here she is. Katniss and her inhuman beauty is quickly becoming my weakness.

When we reach Bar Harbor, I'm lost. Katniss was supposed to give me directions, this being the third time she's come here for this exact purpose, but I don't want to force her to talk to me. I drive through the middle of the town, hoping to find a sign or something to point me towards the cemetery, but so far I don't see anything. I'm surrounded by multicolored, Victorian-style shops that are sewn together, no space between them. Ahead of us is the ocean.

The ocean.

It's crisp and clear and blue. So blue. Indigo, sapphire, cobalt, navy, sky—I'm not sure which one. Maybe all of them. The water is silent and still and I'm distracted for a moment by its magnificence. Without thinking, I follow the small, paved road and make the turns until I'm in a parking lot, only yards from the water. I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn to Katniss. She's watching staring out of the front windshield, her eyes expressionless for the first time since I've met her.

I slip out of the car and quickly move to the other side to open her door. I unclip her myself and pick her up out of the jeep and set her on the black pavement. I weave our fingers together and I pull her with me, towards the long, perfectly crafted dock pier made of grey wood. Katniss is slow, so I walk at her pace.

When we reach the end of the dock, I turn to her. "You need some beauty today," I tell her, motioning towards the ocean. I glance around at our surroundings, trying to find something else to prove my point. I grab the only flash yellow I see. It's growing between the tight boards, a brightness in a sea of dark; out of place and unexpected. I slip the dandelion behind her small ear. "Some hope."

Her grey eyes flicker, some life coming back into them.

I want to keep that there. I want to help her forget, for just a moment, about the doom and remember the hope. I don't know if it will help, but I need to do something that might help her even just a little bit. So I speak.

"My mother used to hit me." I've never told anyone this before. Not Finn or Gale or anyone besides my father and my brothers—the people that saw it happen. And I don't know why I'm telling her now, someone I barely know, but I have to. "Just hard enough not to break anything and only where it could be hidden under my t-shirts." Her eyes widen, some sadness returning. I continue, "I don't know why she chose me—she never hit my brothers or spoke to them with the same viciousness she did me. But she told me I deserved it. She never gave me a reason other than that."

"But the truth is it doesn't matter why. She hit me. It happened. And that's what I'm telling you. _You don't deserve this_. But it happened. And you need to know that it can be good again. After everything that has happened and after all of your losses, things can be good again. This dandelion proves it." I point to her ear. "My ability to love others after my mother proves it. The fact that I now understand that I didn't deserve her abuse proves it."

I take her soft face in my hands. Her eyes are filled with unshed tears, from my story or her own, I'm not sure. "So Katniss, remember that. While you bury your mother and say goodbye, try to remember that this pain won't stop you forever. It will create pause and sorrow, but it won't kill you. You can find goodness again." I look back to the ocean, away from her unbelievably stormy eyes, my hands falling from her cheeks. This vast openness is the only thing that compares to her beauty.

Katniss's hand finds me again and she slips her fingers between mine. We stare out onto the ocean, hands tightly clasped, the world only containing the two of us. Seconds, minutes pass. The sun gets higher in the sky. The clouds cover it. It peeks out again. The clouds hide it again.

"Let's go," I say, turning to her again after some time. She squeezes my hand as we head back to the car, passing a few people along the way, each one of them with cameras to their faces, snapping pictures of the scenery.

They are experiencing life. And we are about to be surrounded by death.

Katniss points me in towards the cemetery, still not saying a word. I take the lefts and the rights she indicates until we're driving down a dusty, dirt road under a canopy of lush trees at the edge of town. When we reach the end the road, there's a small cottage of stone and white wood. I pull off the road and park on the edge before unbuckling myself.

We clamber out of the car and before we've even made it to the front door, it swings open. A large man with dirty blonde hair exits, his eyes fixed on Katniss.

"Katniss, it's both wonderful and terrible to see you again," he whispers, his voice full of barely contained melancholy. He turns his muddy brown eyes to me. "I don't believe we've ever met," he says, extending his hand.

I give it a hard shake. "I'm Peeta Mellark. Katniss's friend." I guess that's where we are. I obviously feel more than that, but friends are where we are right now. That's the only explanation.

He gives me a small nod. "I'm Plutarch Heavensbee. I'm the sexton and owner of this cemetery." He turns back to Katniss. "Everything is ready when you are, Katniss."

She leaves us momentarily, heading back to the jeep. I watch her with curious eyes as she opens the door behind the passenger's and reaches for something inside the vehicle. When she comes back out, she's holding the small box I forgot even existed. She hid it under her seat when we first loaded our bags into the jeep and I haven't seen it since. It's just cardboard, but the way that she's carrying it with such care, I now know it contains something monumentally important: her mother's ashes.

When she gets back to us, I tuck a stray hair behind her ear, letting my thumb linger on the smooth skin of her cheek. I just have to touch her. Let her know that I'm here.

She holds out the box to Plutarch and he takes it from her with his meaty, wrinkled hands. Without a word, he slowly turns and begins walking in the grass, towards the trees; Katniss and I follow obediently. The grass is lush under my black dress shoes, my feet flattening it with each step I take. I tuck my hands into my front pockets; Katniss has hers hidden, folded as her arm are crossed over her chest. I want to touch her, but she must want me to right now.

Little time has passed before we reach a clearing. Gravestones peek out from under the soil sporadically, with no real order. We create a single-file behind Plutarch as he weaves us through the history and past lives that are now residing in the ground. It's not until we reach the corner of the cemetery that we meet a small gated off area. Her family plot.

Plutarch opens the rickety black metal gate and the three of us enter. Most of the gravestones are covered in moss and vines, indicating their age. But three of them are bright, shining marble; we head towards those.

Katniss drops to the ground as soon as we get to them. She reaches out, her fingers gently caressing the stone in front of her. _Primrose Everdeen, _it reads in elegant script. She runs her fingertips along the letters and I watch her, unsure of what to do. Katniss's face is still blank, but her eyes aren't empty anymore; they're black and brimming with tears.

I kneel down beside her and watch as Plutarch removes a small grey urn from the box. It's decorated with drawings of white flowers and pink roses. It's simple but breathtaking—the artwork and the notion behind the small container. We live these full lives, but in the end, we can fit inside a tiny jar.

"Katniss, would you like to say something?" Plutarch asks as he places the urn delicately in the hole he must have dug a few days ago.

She shakes her head, but stands up and walks over to stand in front of her mother's headstone, leaving Prim behind again; I copy her.

"Well I will," he says. He clears his throat. "Patricia Everdeen did the best she could. She wasn't perfect but she tried hard to be a good person, and most of the time she succeeded. She loved hard and wholly; she cared for her children more than she could ever put into words; and she worked hard for the career she desired most.

"Her long battle with depression ended tragically, but we will try to remember the good times we had with her instead of the bad. We will remember the home cooked meals and the clothes she sewed for us and the kisses she gave.

"We will miss you dearly. You left behind many who cared for you. But we hope you finally find peace, Patricia Everdeen. May you be reunited with your beloved daughter and husband once again."

A tear slips from the corner of my eye before I can stop it. I don't know who I'm crying for. Katniss. Prim. Mr. Everdeen. Mrs. Everdeen. Plutarch. My father. Myself. Maybe all of the above. All I know is that my heart hurts.

Katniss buries her face in my chest and I wrap my arms around her, squeezing her small frame against mine. She's not crying, though. She's holding back. Her shoulders rise and fall dramatically and evenly, with great effort. It's like she's afraid of drowning and she's trying as best as she can to breathe through the fear.

Plutarch begins to cover up the urn with dirt, but I turn my eyes away. I can't watch the last physical evidence of Katniss's family disappear.

Katniss pulls her head away from me eventually, looking up at me with her sad, open eyes. They are begging me to make her better, but I don't know how. I just kiss her forehead as my hands travel up and down her back, trying to soothe away her pain.

We don't stay at the gravesite for long. If I can barely stand the death and the sadness, I know it has to be impossible for Katniss. As soon as we start to walk back to the car, she's stumbles, shaky on her feet, and I quickly lift her into my arms, carrying and cradling her; she winds her arms around my neck and places her head on my shoulder.

"Did you guys get situated in your place to stay tonight?" Plutarch asks when we reach the front of his house again. I turn towards him, still holding Katniss in my arms.

I shake my head. "No. I figured we'd find a hotel in town."

Plutarch raises his eyebrows. "You're not going to say at the house?"

"What house?" I ask, confusion taking over.

"Patricia's father's house. He passed away almost ten years ago, but the house is paid off and under Patricia's name. Or now Katniss's, I guess. It's where they stayed when Phil died, and then Primrose."

I look down at Katniss in my arms; she nods her head subtly.

"Okay, where is it?"

* * *

The house isn't a house. It's a mansion. With columns and marble steps. It looks like a mini version of the White House. The yard is perfectly manicured and decorated with flowers and apple trees. I have no idea who is tending this place, but it's stunning. It looks as if someone is still living here.

I carry both mine and Katniss's bags on my shoulders as we walk up the steps. Katniss reaches for the keypad on the side of the house next to the door handle and presses in a code; the door opens in response. Fancy.

I follow her as she enters the house. She walks past the metal sculpture of a cornucopia and up the glass staircase; her high heels echo with each step. The walls of the house are all painted the same drab eggshell and even though massive in size, it's not cold like you'd expect. The walls are covered with artwork and family photos, each filled with love and warmth and smiling faces.

We walk down the long upstairs hallway and I look over the edge of the railing to the living room below. There are several large couches and a huge plasma screen TV in the corner. There's also a small aquarium, but it's unlit and empty. At the end of the hall, we enter a peach-colored room. All of the furniture is painted white and matching.

Katniss heads straight to the perfectly made bed and collapses onto it, finally breaking down. I let the bags slip off my shoulders and onto the white-carpeted floor and join her. She crawls into my arms immediately and I fold her against my chest, her face buried in my neck.

I unbraid her hair and comb my fingers through it, just trying to support her and soothe her tears. Her chest jumps with each shaky breath she takes, but she's not crying as hard as she was last night. Her tears are quiet and constant, soaking my skin and button-up.

I know she doesn't need words right now, she just needs someone to hold her. So that's what I'm going to do.

When the sun starts to set, its rays fading from the large glass window, the clouds changing into orange, she finally pulls her head away. She looks down at me, her grey eyes still glassy from her tears.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, my voice soft and low.

She shakes her head.

"Thirsty?"

Again, she shakes her head.

"Well is there anything I can do for you?" I ask, brushing her hair away from her forehead.

She nods her head. But before I can open my mouth to ask what, she's crushing her lips to mine.


	7. Chapter 7

I instantly pull away, shocked and sputtering.

"Katniss—w-what?" I start, but I have no words. Katniss just kissed me. On the mouth. I can't even comprehend it.

She places her hand on my chest, her fingers setting my skin on fire. "Kiss me," she whispers. They're the first words she's spoken all day. "Touch me."

Oh _fuck_. "Katniss, maybe this isn't the best idea," I say, trying to convince myself just as much as her. "You aren't thinking clearly right now."

She shakes her head. "I am. Please, Peeta." Her voice is raw and broken. Tears slip from her silver eyes and run down the flushed, blotchy skin of her face. Her lips are quivering and a little of bit of snot is dripping from her nose. But I've never seen her look more beautiful. "Just make me forget," she whispers.

And I want to. Oh god, I want _her_. But I can't take advantage of her like this. We just buried the last family member she has, and she's obviously not in the right state of mind. She doesn't want _me_. She said it herself, she just wants to forget. But I know, as soon as I'm inside her, I'll never forget. I won't want to.

She leans down to me and begins kissing up my neck, her lips trembling against my skin. Her nails are digging into my chest, painful pleasure. My hands rise on their own accord and grip her hips; she feels so good.

I release a shuttering breath and force myself to get my head in the game. I told Katniss I was here to help her—and that's what I have to do. She needs this. She needs a release. And I will give it to her. I can't watch her break again—not Katniss. She's so strong—I just. I can't. Not her.

As soon as her lips reach the corner of my jaw, I turn my head and seal her lips with mine again. Her soft lips taste like salt and honey and home, and I'm hungry for more.

I make quick work of the buttons on her black ruffled top, the one she wore to the funeral, and slip it off her shoulders; my lips follow my hands. The skin of her shoulders and arms is just as warm and delicious as her lips. I nibble on her shoulder blades, eliciting a small moan from her. I'm throbbing my jeans, my erection pressing uncomfortably against my zipper, but I ignore it. This isn't about me.

Katniss rolls onto her back and pulls me on top of her. "I need you to kiss me again," she gasps into my hair, and I oblige, bringing my mouth away from her collarbone and back to hers. Her smooth tongue collides with mine, sweet and forceful, and she hums contentedly in the back of her throat.

I position myself between her legs, pushing up her cotton skirt with my thighs, and we fit together inexplicably—a missing puzzle piece.

I slide my left hand out from under her back let it fall onto her chest; I feel her body sink further into the mattress in response, moaning quietly. Her breast fits perfectly in my hand, and I squeeze it gently, my fingers eager to feel the weight of it. I graze my thumb over her pebbled nipple through the sheer fabric of her bra and Katniss's fingers clench on my hair in response, pulling at the roots. She likes that. I do it again, tweaking her nipple between my thumb and forefinger with more pressure and she writhes under me, grinding her hips against mine, pushing another soft moan into my mouth.

Suddenly, she places her hands on my shoulders and pushes me away. I pull back, gazing into her lust-filled eyes.

"What did I?—did I do something—" I start, but she silences me by reaching behind her back and unclasping her bra; it slowly slides off her body. She falls back down on the bed, biting her bottom lip, nervous and self-conscious.

I've seen breasts before, obviously, but I can't help but stare at Katniss's bare chest. They are the perfect size, round and pale. Her nipples are small and pink and enticingly hard and I need to taste them. I lean down and envelope her left one with my mouth, nibbling softly, then increasing the pressure until I'm biting it entirely; I groan against her skin, officially hard.

"Fuck," Katniss moans as her nails scratch my scalp. I swirl my tongue around the area and nibble at it again before I switch to the other side and do the same thing. With my lips attached to her perfect nipple, I look up to her face and watch as she tosses her head from side to side, biting her lip, her eyes squeezed shut. Hands down, it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

I leave her breasts and kiss down her stomach until I'm where I want to be the most. I unzip the zipper on the side of her skirt, and slowly inch it down her thighs, revealing her white cotton underwear. God, that hot. I lick my lips in anticipation.

"Peeta?"

I tear my gaze away from the junction of her thighs and back up to her face. Her eyebrows are pulled together and her cloudy eyes are wide and questioning.

"I've never…" she trails off, her hands moving to cover her face, discomfited. What? What she talking about?

I crawl back up her body until my face is only a few inches from hers. "Never what?" I ask. I peel her hands away, forcing her to look at me.

"No guy has ever, you know, gone down on me," she murmurs, red blotches of embarrassment appearing on her cheeks.

"Seriously?" I shake my head in disbelief. I haven't thought about doing anything else since the minute I saw her. She nods. A rush of pleasure runs through me. I'm gonna be the first person to taste her. "Well we are about to change that," I tell her, grinning.

I watch as her face morphs with surprise, and I can't help but lean in for another kiss before I slither down her body again. I stop at her breasts momentarily, sucking the peaks, but continue my journey, licking along her ribs and dipping my tongue into her bellybutton.

"Wait," she says. I look up to her face from the edge of her panties. "Take your shirt off."

I sit up on my knees and pull the offending garment over my shoulders, not even bothering to unbutton it first.

She reaches up for me when it's cast aside and pulls my body back on top of hers. She kisses me again with fervor, her hands running up and down the panes of my stomach and chest. I glide one of my hands along her delicate collar bone and between our bodies, back to her breast. She's going to get as much pleasure of this as possible. She sighs into my mouth as I pinch her hard nipple, her body bucking uncontrollably against mine.

But I stop before I get too tempted. I tear my mouth away from hers, even though it pains me, and shift down her body again until I'm eye-level with her crotch. I can see that they're damp with her arousal and my dick throbs at the notion that_ I_ have the ability to turn Katniss on. I slowly pull off her white briefs and throw them over my shoulder.

I almost come in my pants at the sight of her, spread open and glistening. Her clit peaks out, swollen and begging to be sucked, but I refrain. For now. Unable to wait, I dive in, dragging my tongue through her slick folds. Katniss's hips rise and I hear a mewl of approval and surprise escape her. Eager for more, I move her muscled thighs onto my shoulders, and slide my hands to the soft but firm skin of her ass to get better access to her delicious core. She tastes earthy but sweet and I'm drooling for it—even better than I imagined as I thought about her in the shower, my hand wrapped around myself, pumping furiously. But I honestly never thought I'd get the chance to do it.

I swivel my tongue south, seeking her entrance, and dip my tongue inside when I do. Katniss swivels her hips against my face, gasping loudly and pleasurably, so I keep doing what I'm doing, drawing her sweet wetness into my mouth. I massage her tight walls, groaning at way she contracts around my tongue. What I wouldn't do to be buried deep inside of her.

When my tongue starts to tire, I slip out of her and find the bundle of nerves that will make her scream my name. As soon as the tip of my tongue touches her clit, her hips fly off the bed, her hand suddenly in my hair.

"Peeta," she moans. I can't help but smile at the way she pants my name.

I remove one of my hands from her ass and slip two fingers inside of her as I go back to her clit, worrying the hot flesh between my lips. I curl my fingers upwards, seeking her g-spot, trying to get her off with an explosive orgasm.

I run the pad of my tongue over her clit, and then the underside, trying to find out what she likes best. But it's not until I wrap my mouth around it entirely and suck as hard as I can that she begins to really grind against my face and pull at my hair so hard it hurts. I should have known she'd like that.

She doesn't warn me when she's about to come, but I can feel it. She slowly tightens around my fingers and then she contracts violently, shouting my name loudly and gutturally. Her hands clench around the fistfuls of my hair in time with her waves of her orgasm, and I keep sucking and teasing her clit until I feel her slump into the bed, exhausted.

I quickly go back to her entrance and drink the evidence of her orgasm before I pull away and seek her gaze. Her grey eyes are hooded and sleepy and I know I've done my job—given her a well needed release of pain and pleasure.

I crawl off the bed and remove my black slacks, not even trying to hide the fact that I've got the most painful erection and I would probably explode with a subtle breeze. It relieves some of the ache and I take a deep breath, willing myself to relax. I snatch the folded quilt at the end of the bed then crawl back onto it to lie down beside her, throwing the blanket over the two of us.

She cuddles into my chest and kisses my neck delicately, her tongue slipping out of her mouth to prod deliciously at my pulse point.

Yeah, this is definitely not helping with the whole boner thing.

"Katniss…" I warn. She pulls her face away and gazes down at me, her hand caressing my pecs. She lets the blanket fall, revealing her left breast; her nipple is still hard and begging to have my mouth around it again. I shake my head, dismissing those thoughts.

"What?" she asks.

I take a deep breath. I don't want to hurt her. But doesn't she understand that I'm dying here? She could never be just a one night stand for me. I'd have to have her again and again. To feel her silky skin against mine; to intertwine our fingers together above her head; to move inside her and feel her walls milk my come out of me and into her.

I brush her hair behind her ear and lean up kiss her perfect, slightly sweaty forehead. "I don't want you to regret anything," I tell her truthfully, hoping that will be the best explanation.

"I may be younger than you Peeta, but I'm not a child. I can make decisions for myself." She's angry. Good. That's better than hurt.

I graze her flushed cheek with my thumb. "I know that. But that doesn't mean that your decision-making skills are on par right now." I kiss her lips—just once, quickly—but even that simple action makes me hungry her more. But I refrain. "I made you forget. That's what you wanted, right?"

Her eyes flash with something I can't identify, and she breaks our stare, looking down at the quilt; she covers herself up again.

"I think I'm hungry now," she whispers after a long silence. She's still avoiding my eyes.

I nod my head and slip out from under the blankets. I've settled mostly, but I decide not to get dressed. I mean, Katniss is still naked and I don't want her to feel any more vulnerable than she already is right now. "I'll order a pizza. I'm gonna search for a phonebook or something downstairs—can you be alone for a minute?"

She nods her head and collapses down on the bed again, bringing the quilt up to cover her head.

Dread filling my stomach, I turn and exit the room.

I lick my lips as my foot hits the first step.

I can still taste her.

* * *

Katniss doesn't sleep at all. So neither do I, no matter how tired I am. After we finished eating pizza, Katniss just laid on her back and watched the ceiling; I joined her, keeping space between us. She got dressed while I searched for a phonebook downstairs in the massive kitchen—slipping back into her underwear and pulling on my discarded button-up. She looked so mouth-watering my shirt, I couldn't deny that, but I didn't move to hold her like I wanted to. After what just happened, she needs to make the move, set the pace. I don't want to scare her away in her grieving state.

When the sun was officially gone and the moon began to light up the room, we submerged ourselves under the covers and tried to fall asleep. But it's been hours and still nothing.

It's not until past two a.m. that I finally feel Katniss curl up against me and press her face into my neck. I wrap my arm around her immediately, squeezing her body to my side. She slips one of her legs between mine; her toes are ice cold like always.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. Her breath tickles my ear and causes goosebumps to erupt all over my body. Her voice always has that effect on me.

I comb my fingers through her still loose hair. "For what?"

"Your mother."

My entire body stiffens, my hands freezing in her waves. I forgot I told her about that. I quickly resume running my fingers through her chestnut locks. But I stay silent. I don't want to talk about my mother.

She runs her hand down my stomach and rests it on my hipbone. "I can't understand how anyone could ever hurt you," she murmurs, so quietly I'm not sure is she meant to say it out loud.

I want to scoff at that. My mother was just the first of many women to hurt me. And yeah, the pain she inflicted was worse and longer-lasting, but she was still just the first. I've known nothing but suffering when it comes to the opposite sex and only sometimes can I see that ever changing. Only in moments like this, warm cuddling with Katniss, can I see a painless future. But it's a fantasy, a fallacy, never to come true.

"I could say the same about you," I whisper. She pulls away to look down at me. The moonlight shines on her features, now furrowed with confusion. Not her relatives—the pain they inflicted wasn't intentional. "Your ex-boyfriend," I explain. "You said that he cheated on you. I can't imagine anyone doing that to you."

I run my fingers down the smooth skin of her thigh, unable to help myself. She shivers against me, but doesn't move away. "Yeah, well, you can't change the past right?" she says, pushing away the hurt.

I nod. "No. But you can try to move past it."

Easier said than done. I've been trying to live by those words for years, with no success. Only more heartache.

"It was actually a good thing he cheated," Katniss says, startling me back into the conversation. "Made me realize that he wasn't what I wanted."

I feel myself nodding. "It was the kinda same with Delly—the one that just cheated on me. I now know that we weren't meant to be. But the pain," I take a deep breath, "is still fresh."

She starts to run her hands up and down my stomach, and I instantly relax, her touch soothing me. I don't know if she's doing it intentionally, but it's working. Her touch is strong and steady and comforting—unlike anything I've known in my life.

"I'm glad you're here with me," she says, her fingers playing with my happy trail.

"Me too," I tell her honestly. I can't imagine doing anything else right now.

"We barely know each other, yet you take care of me as if we've been close since birth. I've never known anyone who cares like that before."

"I've never met anyone as strong and as beautiful as you before."

I finally turn my face to her and watch as her grey eyes flash with that same emotion I can't seem to pinpoint. She places her hand on my cheek and closes her eyes.

And that's how we finally fall asleep.

* * *

There's not a lot in this house food-wise, but I find the ingredients for my special cinnamon bread. I need to make Katniss something—something to show her that it was more than just taking care of her last night. Something that will tell her that I care _for_ her. And I need to do it without saying the words. Because I soon as _I _say them, it's over for us. Doomed. And I don't want that.

I let the dough rise and mix the cinnamon sugar while I let my mind wander. I've done this so many times its second nature—as natural as breathing to me. I didn't want to leave her and have her wake up alone, but it was necessary; and I think I can get back in time before she awakes. But I want to please her in any way possible, and this will. She moaned when she first ate a slice of the cinnamon bread my father packed for us and she complimented him, and I never told her that I actually made it. This will show her.

It's only five a.m. and the sun hasn't even started to rise, but I couldn't sleep anymore. There's honestly nothing better than falling asleep next to Katniss, but I can't stay asleep for long; my mind is too busy. It wants her and then it doesn't and it relives tasting her and it wants me to forget it. But I can't forget it anymore. She's under my skin and I don't think she's going to get out—at least not soon anyway.

But I _refuse_ to fall for her. Like her, sure. I'm completely infatuated with her now and I'm finally willing to admit it. But fall in love with her? Uh-uh. No. Never. I'm putting my foot down.

It's fifteen minutes to six when I pop the loaf into the oven and head upstairs. Hopefully, I'll be able to sneak back in bed. I walk as quietly as I can down the hallway and into the peach room. Katniss is thankfully still asleep, her hair matted around her face. She's on her stomach, her face turned to the side, her arm stretched out on the space I was previously occupying. My chest warms at the idea that she's reaching for me.

I slip onto the mattress and place her stretched arm on my stomach, lying down on my back. Katniss immediately snuggles into my side, her head settling by my armpit. My bread has to bake for forty minutes, and I want to spend that time watching her sleep. I like watching her sleep—and not in a creepy way. I just—I can't explain it. I like looking at her when there's no chance of her seeing. She has an effect on me. I'm a victim, a slave to her, and I love breathing her in.

I try not to get excited by the sight of her plain white panties peeking out from under my shirt, but I can't help it—my dick twitches automatically. I was there twelve hours ago, tasting the arousal_ I_ gave her. There's no better knowledge I've received in my life. That I, Peeta Mellark, can make Katniss Everdeen come.

Unfortunately, my watching time is cut a couple minutes short when Katniss begins to stir at my side. She blinks her eyes open, blurry and grey as she chases the sleep away. But soon enough she fixes her suffocating gaze on me and I try to smile at her as comforting as possible. Thankfully, she smiles back—though it's small. But it still counts.

"I'm baking breakfast," I tell her cautiously, gauging her reaction.

She nods her head and together we crawl out of bed and down the stairs. I walk behind her, watching the gentle sway of her hips under the shirt that barely covers her ass. Beautiful. Just fucking beautiful.

The timer goes off just as we enter the kitchen and I scramble to find an oven mitt to pull it out. It's perfectly golden, the cinnamon bubbling out of the slits on the top of the loaf. I set it on top of the oven and search for a glass to get Katniss some water. Milk goes best with it, but considering no one lives here, I highly doubt the fridge would contain milk. And if it did, the carton would probably be so old it would have grandchildren.

When I hand Katniss the glass, she gives me another small smile. Unable to stand it for another second, I lean down and quickly kiss her forehead. I just need to touch her, taste her—anything. I'm desperate here. Her smile is wider when I pull away and I instantly relax.

"How are feeling today?" I ask, tentatively.

She bites her lower lip that's trembling slightly, and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not crying, so that's a good sign," she says, dismissing me, hiding her sadness.

"I will be here for you if feel like it."

She shakes her head. "I'm just hungry right now."

I nod and turn back to the stove, and slip the loaf of cinnamon bread out of the pan. The aroma takes over my senses, and I breathe deeply, relishing in the comfort it gives me. I quickly pull a bread knife out of the corner and slice a couple slices for Katniss. I slide them onto one of the paper plates I found last night and hand it to her.

"Thanks for doing this," she says, lifting the bread to her mouth.

I nod. "I'd do anything for you," I whisper, uncontrollably, the words falling from my mouth before I can stop them.

She takes a large bite, and I watch her carefully as she chews and swallows. She immediately takes another bite. Her mouth morphs into a grin, chewing and smiling at me. I smile back, a chuckle escaping my mouth.

Once her first slice is finished, she asks, "Did you make the bread your father packed for us?"

I nod.

A small, quiet smile comes onto her face then. A smile I haven't seen before—like she's breathing in the subtle scent of rain. "I want to learn more about you."

My heart flutters in my chest. There's nothing I would love more.

* * *

**How was that? Sexy enough for you guys, but it didn't shatter the fragile, budding state of their relationship? I hope so. Thank you all for reading—and for reviewing, favoriting and following. You guys are awesome. Any predictions for what's to come with these two? Let me know**

**Tumblr: _books-are-better_**


	8. Chapter 8

We relax on the couch, nibbling on the bread and watching static-y morning cartoons for a couple hours. I have no idea who's paying the electricity bill for this place but I have to say it's weird to watch fuzzy local channels on a plasma screen TV—obviously the person isn't paying for cable. But Katniss isn't crying and she seems to actually be in an okay mood.

But when I ask her if she wants to stay another day, she automatically shakes her head, her eyes igniting with fear. I guess there are just too many bad memories to stand to stay here long.

So I wrap the leftover cinnamon bread in some ancient tinfoil and start washing the pan I used for it as Katniss heads upstairs to get dressed—as much as it pains me. She looks so good in my shirt.

After the pan is clean, I tuck it back in the drawer where I found it and head up the stairs to change as well.

But I'm dreading it.

Now that we've done what we went on this trip to do, it's all downhill from here. We'll be home soon and back to our normal lives. And my normal life doesn't include Katniss.

I mosey down the hall and into the room right as Katniss is slipping on a pair of jeans. I frown at them; I'm going to miss the sight of her bare legs. But I can see that there are clouds the color of Katniss's eyes in the sky, blocking out the sun. So I pull on a pair of jeans as well and green t-shirt.

"Are there any places you'd like to go on the way home?"

Katniss's quiet voice startles me, and I turn around to find her watching me, her eyes round and glassy.

I shrug my shoulders. "I didn't have any plans, but—" I hesitate, trying to figure out how to say what I'm feeling without actually saying it.

"But what?" she asks, shifting her weight to her left hip.

"But I have nowhere to be," I finish. "So if you wanted, we could find something to do on the way home."

She doesn't smile—not with her mouth anyway, but I see the sadness leave her eyes and excitement light them up. At least, I hope that's what it is and not just a figment of my imagination—hoping to find something to show that she sees me like I see her.

"Okay," she says with a nod.

A smile takes over my face uncontrollably as relief and happiness ignites my veins. "You'll allow it?"

She finally smiles back. "I'll allow it."

* * *

We just get in the car and drive. Leisurely. No speeding. Just the car on an empty highway—freeways are for pussies. We don't have a destination. We just have a cooler full of food and beer, and a map so we don't get lost.

"Wanna play twenty questions again?" Katniss asks as she unbraids her hair; I'm mesmerized by the chocolate waves that tumble down her shoulders briefly before I force myself to look back to the empty road.

"Sounds good to me," I say.

"But let's make it a little more interesting." Her voice is playful—so different than the broken girl from last night. But I'm not about to question her happiness.

"How?" I ask.

"You try to ask questions the other person probably won't want to answer. Like dirty twenty questions. But if the other chooses not to answer, they get punished."

"Punished how?" If this is going to get kinky, I have to say I'd be a tad excited.

"We'll figure that out later," she says, shaking her head. "For now we'll just keep a tally."

"Um, okay." This could either go magnificently or just terribly horrific. But either way it will be fun, right? Right?

"I'll go first," she says. "What age did you lose your virginity?"

I officially hate this game. One question in and I'm already blushing. But I can't wimp out already. I clear my throat. "Nineteen."

I look over to see her eyes flare with surprise. Okay, yeah, so I was a little bit of a late bloomer. Girls scared the shit out of me—and with good reason. I just wanted to be in love my first time. Though, of course, the woman inevitably broke my heart. But I've more than made up for my slow start. Well, not more than. Just enough.

"The story of your first kiss?" I counter.

She furrows her eyebrows before answering, "I was thirteen. Marvel Whitticer. He accidently tackled me in flag football and I just pulled his face down to mine and kissed him. We knocked teeth and he tasted like a ring-pop."

I let out a pleased chuckle. "That's a good story."

She beams at me, the innocence of her age actually shinning through. "First blow job?" Okay, so much for innocence.

I groan. Jesus, this is embarrassing! Girls have so much more ammo than guys, it seems. "Nineteen," I say again. "Her name was Clove. She was the first girl I ever loved—and yeah, she's the one I lost my virginity to as well. She went down on me in the bed of her father's truck while we watched Fourth of July fireworks."

"Did you come in time with the fireworks?" she asks, her voice dripping with amusement.

I did. My mouth slowly curves into a smile. "I'm not answering that."

"You did." She's reading my mind again. She laughs—light and musical. "You totally did."

"My turn," I say, cutting her off. "First time you were fingered?"

She cringes. "Sixteen. It was terrible. He just wiggled it around like a worm and thought his job was done."

I bark out a laugh. This is good. I'm so used to thinking of my relationships as life or death. It's actually nice to minimize them into a simple game and remember them in a funny way, instead of reflecting on the hurt. But more often, I find myself forgetting about my past pain when I'm with Katniss. I can't tell yet if it's because she's a distraction, or if it's more than that. I don't know which one I want it to be.

"Anal?"

I choke on my own tongue. Literally. Sputtering and shocked, I glance at Katniss. Fuck the road right now. She's raising her eyebrows—waiting for my answer, unaffected. Jesus Christ. Just when I think I might have figured her out, she says the word "anal".

I shake my head. "Never." I take a loud gulp. "I, uh, I don't, uh, really plan to." Then curiosity strikes me. "You?" My voice squeaks.

She shakes her head too. "Same." I feel like an anvil has been lifted from my chest. For some reason, the idea of Katniss doing that with someone makes me want to kill something violently. And I almost never feel like violence—with a childhood like mine, you tend to run away from it.

"Have you ever been in a fight?" she asks, lobbing me a soft ball. But for me, it's anything but soft.

I nod curtly. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as the memory runs through my brain, shame and anger still present deep down. "Just once. Clove cheated on me with this total asshole. Fuck—that seems to be a pattern in my life." I run a hand through my hair and roll my shoulders, trying to calm down. "The next time I saw him, at some stupid party, I just couldn't hold back. I wailed on him; broke his nose and my hand. I felt so ashamed afterwards. I hate fighting." A lump is lodged in my throat and I stop, unable to say any more. Not that I want to anyway.

She nods her head. I think Katniss understands that some things just can't be spoken.

"When did you lose your virginity?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

"Pass."

I glance at her again, confusion filling me; my eyebrows furrow unconsciously. "Pass? On that question?"

"Yes." She crosses her arms over her chest, the official "this-subject-is-closed" gesture of Katniss Everdeen.

"Okay, one tally for you." Huh. I wonder why she would pass on that.

"Why didn't you ever tell someone about your mom?" she asks, her voice soft. But there's a hint of anger.

"Pass." There's no way I'm talking about that.

She sighs and sinks into her seat. When did this game suddenly turn depressing? Please, God, let's change it.

"Have you ever been skinny dipping?" I ask her.

"No," she replies.

I look to her, smiling all of a sudden, sad pall gone. And a destination for tonight officially picked.

* * *

I think New Hampshire has to be the most beautiful state we've driven through so far. The trees are lush and never-ending and each highway seems to be right through the forest or by some kind of body of water —it's astounding. It's less than six hours before we're pulling into the parking lot of a public beach for Great East Lake in New Hampshire. The clouds look menacing, but I'm not gonna focus on that right now. I hop out of my jeep and head for the cooler in the backseat.

"What are we doing here?" Katniss asks as she jumps out and walks with me as I lug the cooler closer to the water.

"We are going to lie on the beach and drink until the sun sets," I say.

"And then what?" she asks.

I set the cooler on the sand; it shakes with melted ice. I look up at her and smile as reassuringly as possible. "And then we are skinny dipping."

"Uh, no." She crosses her arms over her chest.

I head back to the car to grab some blankets, ignoring her stubbornness. She runs after me. "Why not? You have nothing to hide. I've already seen you naked." My dick twitches as the image of her writhing against my mouth pops into my head.

"Maybe I don't want to see you naked," she says, annoyance in her tone.

"Then close your eyes." I turn around to her before we reach the trunk. She's surprised by the sudden stop and accidently tumbles into me; I lift my arms out to steady her. But when she tries to pull away, I keep my grip on her waist and lock my eyes with her beautifully grey ones. "Do you trust me?"

She hesitates briefly. "Almost."

Good enough. "Everyone should go skinny dipping once in their life. It's a high. It's weird and fun and if you don't want me to look, I will cover my eyes until you are completely submerged in the water."

She releases an exaggerated sigh and rolls hers eyes. "Fine."

Trying to stifle my grin, I press my lips to her forehead. "It'll be fun," I tell her again. I let her go before I turn back around and open the trunk of the jeep. I grab a couple blankets from my "in case of emergency" bag and head back to the cooler. When the navy quilt is down on the sand, I reach for a beer and my make self comfortable—stretching out and relaxing under the cloudy sky.

Katniss grabs a beer, twists off the cap and takes a long swig—draining half of it. So much for a leisurely drink. I shrug my shoulders and do the same.

And that's how our afternoon goes. I make us sandwiches with the fixings from our cooler and Katniss takes a break in her drinking to eat it—moaning in delight and complimenting my sandwich skills—then resumes the drinking. She's apparently on a mission to be drunk before we go skinny dipping.

For some reason, the beach stays empty. I guess because it's cloudy. But fortunately, the clouds never turn into anything more—no rain or thunder. I set up our tent in the trees out of sight, glancing over to Katniss frequently, but she stays on the blanket and continues to sing and giggle to herself.

When I've finished that and join her again, she's officially drunk. Her grey eyes are dull and glassy, her mouth in a perpetual grin, her body lazily spread out on the blanket.

"The Peet-ster! You need to catch up!" she yells as I plop down next to her. She reaches into the cooler and tosses me another; I catch it easily. She looks so beautiful right now, more relaxed than I've ever seen her. She never did put her hair back it's usual braid and it's marvelous, so chocolate-y and perfect. Now that it's loose, I can see hints of auburn and black it in; my hand reaches out and runs through it before I can stop myself. Hopefully she's too drunk to think too much of it. Unlike me. My mind won't/can't/doesn't want to fathom why I feel like I'm dying whenever I'm not touching this girl I barely know.

But Katniss's smile just gets wider. She collapses on ground again, giggling uncontrollably. I shrug my shoulders and drain the bottle she just threw to me. She's right. I do need to catch up.

* * *

"Okay, it's time."

The sun has officially gone behind the mountains and the moon is bright in the sky. I look over at Katniss and stand up.

"Do we have to?" she asks again, stumbling to get to her feet.

"Yes, we do." I reach over my shoulders and pull my t-shirt off my head. I drop it on the blanket and work at my belt, unbuckling it and shimmying out of my jeans; I kick them and my shoes off. "I'm gonna close my eyes now and when I open them again, you better be naked."

"Okay, but I don't want to go in without you," she says. I can hear the sound of shuffling clothes.

"What does that mean exactly?"

"It means that I'm going to get naked and cover myself up, then you can take off your boxers. And you are going to have to hold my hand and drag me into the water—with your eyes closed!"

"Okay, okay." I hold my hands up in surrender, still keeping my eyes squeezed shut.

There's only the quiet ruffle of clothing and the crickets chirping.

"Okay, I'm ready," she says after a minute or two. "Off with the boxers."

With a deep breath, I push my underwear to the ground and quickly cup myself. If I don't get to look at her, she sure as hell doesn't get a sneak peek of me. Not that she'd really want to. I mean, us guys know are areas aren't the prettiest things to look at. Plus, I'm pretty sure the idea that Katniss might be checking me out is something that "little me" just couldn't handle without getting a tad excited—or extremely excited.

I reach out with my left hand, seeking hers. She clasps it after a second and I take a step towards the beach, pulling her with me.

Then, without warning, I break into a sprint. Katniss squeals when our feet hit the cold water and then again when I let her go to dive under completely. The water is a shock to my system, and any buzz I had is instantly gone. I wonder if Katniss feels the same. I jump out of the water and finally open my eyes, grinning and shivering.

Everything below Katniss' neck is hidden by the water, and her waves are slicked back, away from her face like a mermaid; she's smiling at me. She looks a couple shades lighter in the moonlight, her skin a mirror for the moon.

"So how is it?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. I already know it's amazing. Foreign, but great.

She rolls her eyes at me, but I can tell she's trying to hide a smile. "You were right," she whispers.

"I'm sorry, what did you say? I was what?"

She punches me in the arm. "You heard me, ass."

I laugh and she joins me. I want to swim around, or even look up at the stars, but I can't seem to do anything but look at her. Her face is lit up by the moon so I can see every startling, innocent, classic, bonerific feature.

"Thanks for making me do this, Peeta," she whispers, her silver eyes happy—so different than they were last night.

"Anytime," I reply. And I mean it.

Her face grows serious. "I always feel safe when you're around."

I open my mouth to say something, but I can't think of anything so I close it again.

She shakes her head, dismissing a thought and smiles. Then she turns around and paddles away from me, towards the shadows, taking her translucent, never-ending skin with her.

* * *

I'm awoken by a weird thump. My eyes fly open and take in my surroundings, instantly on alert. They quickly adjust to the darkness; I know I haven't been asleep for that long if it's still night. Another sound occurs to my left and I turn my head to discover what it is.

"Katniss?"

She's thrashing around in her sleeping bag, her limbs flailing crazy. Shit. Another nightmare.

I tear open my sleeping bag and crawl over to hers; quickly, I wrap my arms around her petite frame and pull her closer to where I was lying and begin to murmur into her ear, trying to wake her up. Her body deflates against mine, her twitches lessening, her eyelids fluttering open; I continue to cradle her, rocking her with care.

"I wish you could take them away, too," she whispers after a long time.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion, unsure of what she's talking about. But then I realize—that's what I've been whispering to her.

I exhale loudly, and pull her into my sleeping bag and zip us up together. It's cramped and she's basically lying on top of me, but I don't care. I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her to me.

I don't know if I can do this anymore. Watching her sadness is killing me.


	9. Chapter 9

The tent, the beach, the world is silent when I wake up the next morning. Katniss sleeps with her head tucked under my chin, her warm breath skipping across my collarbone. I release a deep sigh, utterly exhausted. And it's not the lack of sleep that's getting to me. I'm a baker who has friends who like to stay out late drinking—I'm used to getting little sleep. It's this beautiful woman sleeping on top of me, her cold toes trapped between my calves, her supple breasts pressed to my chest, her small hand wrapped out my bicep. It's Katniss. She's…taking me over. Occupying my every thought, looking at me with those devastating eyes, sleeping with me; she's possessing me body and soul. And it's both magnificent and possibly the worst thing that's ever happened to me.

I don't know what it is about her—maybe it's the fact that she drowning and she needs someone to save her or maybe it's that she's in my life at a time when I don't want anyone—but Katniss is ruining me. And I don't know how long I can stand it.

I've been hurt too many times to count. But Katniss makes me want to forget about that. She makes me want to fall in love with someone again. With her.

Katniss shifts on top of me, a tale-tell sign that she's waking up, and I release another sigh. Right now, I'm just going to try to live in the moment. And wait for Katniss to show if she wants me too.

She blinks open her eyes lazily—her grey irises so dark they're almost black—but her entire body stiffens when she realizes just how close we really are. We've been sleeping together most nights, sure, but most of the time it's cuddling. But this is a grope fest—we're basically to second base. And we've been more hesitant with our touches since I kinda, ya know, ate her out.

"Morning?" It comes out of my mouth like a question and I automatically feel like a moron. I seem to do that a lot around Katniss. No wonder she doesn't see me like I see her.

"Good morning," she mumbles before sliding off my body and out of the sleeping bag. She's gonna be silent, moody, passive aggressive Katniss today—I can already feel it. The thought makes me want to groan aloud.

And so does the boner I'm suddenly rocking. What is it about this woman that makes me constantly hard?

If Katniss notices my "excitement" she doesn't say anything. She begins to ruffle through her dufflebag and I take it as a subtle-not-so-subtle hint to get the hell out so she can change; I gladly do.

As soon as I'm removed from the cramped space, I stretch out my limbs as much as I can. I'm still shirtless and pant-less, but no one is on the beach—still. Jesus, some people need to sort out their priorities. It's summer and no one is at the beach? Dumb, dumb, people of New Hampshire.

I make my way to the cooler to grab Katniss and myself something for breakfast—but it's painfully obvious that we need to go shopping again as soon as I lift the lid. There isn't much left except beer and a half-eaten bag of Doritos (my weakness). Well, I guess it's leftovers this morning.

When Katniss finally emerges from the tent, my fingertips are orange and I'm propped up against the cooler, my legs crossed and stretched out in front of me.

"We need to go shopping," I tell her, scrambling to stand up.

She just nods at me, her beautiful mouth staying closed. I glance to the water, clear and still, before I look back to her—and I do it with impeccable timing; I watch her eyes quickly fly away from my bare chest and to the ground. I can't fight the smile that moves onto my mouth; I love knowing I have some kind of effect on her. Though I still don't know what kind it is or how strong.

I slip back into the tent to get dressed, even though I would love to have Katniss stare at me the rest of the day, and exit not five minutes later with our packed bags and rolled up sleeping bags.

Katniss and I collapse the tent and stuff it back into its bag together; then load up the car. We don't speak much, but for some reason, it doesn't feel like Katniss is purposefully giving me the cold shoulder like I first assumed. She has a spacey look on her face—her eyes glassy and dazed—that I feel like she's just caught up in her own thoughts. And Jesus, do I wish I knew what they were. To spend a day in Katniss's head—hell, twenty minutes—would be a gift for the ages. But I can't read her mind, so I just hop into the driver's seat and peel out of the empty lot.

We head to the highway and immediately look for the next town with any kind of grocery store in some kind of civilization. I grew up in a nice-sized town, and in New Hampshire, surrounded by trees on all sides, I find myself feeling at tad isolated. And honestly, I love that feeling sometimes, but right now I just need to see the face of someone I'm not thinking about fucking every single second that passes by.

Soon, we find ourselves taking the exit for Rochester, NH. We cruise down the main road until we pull off to Hannaford Supermarket. The place looks pretty nice for a kind of middle-of-nowhere town, so we hop out and head for the automatic doors.

When we cross the threshold, I glance over to the checkout stand area as I grab a basket and find all of them completely empty. A mischievous smile worms onto my face as I think about something I've always imagined doing, but never have. I just don't have the guts for it. But maybe—

And then an idea pops into my head. A brilliant, torturous, embarrassing, hilarious idea.

"Ready to cash in our 'passes'?" I ask, heading for the nearest register, still no one in sight.

Katniss glances over at me, confusion etched on her beautiful face. "What are you talking about?"

"Truth or dare yesterday. If I recall, you passed on the question about your virginity and now you have a punishment. And I'd like to use that punishment right now." I stop at the register and point to the phone. "I dare you to make an announcement."

Katniss reels back. "What?" she practically shouts.

"Come on, it will be awesome," I plead. "And we can hide as soon as you're done so no one knows it's you. You get to pick the topic and everything. Just make it short and sweet."

I can tell Katniss is uncomfortable—so much so that it makes me want to take everything I've said back. But I don't. I watch a plethora of expressions and emotions pass over her features. When she finally bites her lips and meets my eyes, I know I've won; and I throw my arms up over my head victoriously.

"I say it and then we run down the aisle, okay?" she growls at me. I nod my head, concurring vehemently.

She grabs the phone, quickly glances at the piece of paper next to it, then presses a couple buttons on the keypad. There is a loud beep through the speakers of the store as Katniss brings the phone to her mouth.

"Today only, all douche bags with blonde hair will get ten percent of their massive amounts of hair gel. Thank you," she says in the fakest, most chipper voice I've ever heard from her.

And then we book it down the nearest aisle, trying not to laugh too loud and give it all away. Oh my god, that was hilarious. I'm covering my mouth as my chest heaves with laughter. I had no idea Katniss could be funny like that. I mean, she's said funny things every once in a while, but now I know she's just trying to hide her quick wit most of the time. And I have no idea why.

She's grinning uninhibited when I finally calm down enough to stop covering my mouth. "That was great," I chuckle, complimenting her. She nods her head in satisfaction. "And I don't use hair gel, by the way."

She tilts her head to the side as her eyes shift to my hair. "I just figured waves and curls like that couldn't be natural."

I take a step towards her, closing the space between us. "Was that a compliment?" I ask, my voice husky. God, I want her. Her laughter flushed cheeks are just begging me to stroke them.

She tucks some hair behind her ears and flushes even more. "Maybe," she says. Then she walks past me, down the aisle and to the next one.

I shake my head, dismissing my thoughts, and follow her. We use the basket to load up our sustenance for the next few days—cheese and meats for sandwiches, crackers, bread, some chips, veggies, and various other items that look delicious. Katniss grabs us a couple doughnuts for breakfast and I want to applaud her for the idea. I haven't had a doughnut that I didn't bake myself in years.

After a while, we finish up and begin to head for the checkout—but Katniss stops me and hauls me behind a cereal display in the shape of a chair.

"What's going on?" I question, my eyebrows raised.

Now she smirks. Shit. I'm totally fucked.

"You are going to check us out," she says.

What? "Uh, okay."

"Without your shirt on," she finishes. "And stay like that until someone calls you out on it."

No. I can't do that. "Katniss—"

"Peeta, it's your punishment," she cuts me off. "You didn't want to talk about your mom and now you have to do this. You had me do something that could have gotten us thrown out of the store so now you do too."

I open my mouth to argue, but there's no point. She's right. "You just want to see me with my shirt off again," I say, trying to get a reaction out of her.

But she just rolls hers eyes. "I see you shirtless every night. So what you're ripped? Big whoop." She turns my body towards the checkout stand, away from her, and tugs at my shirt, using surprising strength. "Off with it, Mellark."

Still dazed by her assessment of my body, I pull my shirt over my head. "Promise me that if I get thrown out, you'll finish up buying everything for me," I tell her. She simply nods her head and snags my shirt from my hands before pushing me out from behind the display.

She trails behind me as I walk shirtless towards the checkout stand—which now has a woman behind the lit up register two—basket in hand.

I set the basket down on the conveyor belt and try my best to smile as if I'm completely normal and completely dressed. "How are you today?"

The woman looks up from the Nora Roberts novel she has in her right hand and I watch as her eyes widen as she takes in my shirtless form. I cringe, waiting for her to call me out. But she says nothing. Her eyes flick down my chest momentarily, making my skin crawl, and then she begins to check out my items as if this happens every day.

"I'm wonderful, how are you, young man?" she asks me, smiling broadly. She's probably in her early forties, her thick black hair falling across her shoulders and down the front of her apron.

"I'm…great," I reply hesitantly. Why doesn't she say anything? My nipples are so hard in this air-conditioning, they could break glass; but she doesn't even care or notice.

I look over to Katniss and she that she's beaming at me, her eyes laughing—or cackling, more likely. She thinks this is hilarious. I'm sure she knows how freakin' cold it is in here and sees the goosebumps all over my chest.

The woman silently scans all of our items and politely states the total to us; and I swipe my Dad's card accordingly. Still nothing. Silence.

It's not until we're back in the jeep and all of our food is situated in our cooler that Katniss gives me my shirt back. I shrug it on over my shoulders and take my usual place behind the wheel.

"Why didn't she say anything?" I ask, my mind reeling.

Katniss looks at me as if I've grown three heads and mustache. "Seriously, you don't know?"

I frown. "Of course I don't." I put the Jeep in reverse and make my way out of the parking lot and towards the main road.

"Hot guys can get away with anything," she says, slumping into her seat. "Especially if they are hot but not cocky."

"And that's what I am?"

"Duh!" she groans.

I see her blush out of the corner of her eye, similar to what I am doing right now. Katniss said I was hot. _Me._

"Well, you're hot, too. Just FYI," I say, trying to sound cool. I don't want to scare her off by saying that she's the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on—though I know I've called her beautiful at least once before.

She groans louder. "Yeah, whatever. Just drive and be quiet for a while."

So I do—smiling the whole time.

* * *

Tonight, I don't even bother making us separate sleeping bags. Katniss and I know that we'll end up in each other's arms anyway, so why even pretend? I zip the two sleeping bags into one big one that we'll share.

We drove a nice amount today—over ten hours to the Ohio/Pennsylvania border. And I'm dead tired. We set up the tent as quickly as possible and crawl into our one sleeping bag to sleep for the night, staying on opposite sides for the moment.

I'm almost out when Katniss's voice brings me back to life. "I think I wanna tell you now," she whispers.

I'm suddenly wide awake. "Tell me what?"

"I didn't, uh, tell you about, ya know, before because it wasn't a good experience."

I'm totally lost for a moment until I realize what she's talking about: losing her virginity.

"What does that mean exactly? If you don't mind me asking."

She exhales and turns around to face me. I can't see much in the darkness, but I can make out her wide eyes and full mouth.

"The guy I was with, well, he just kind of used me. I had just lost Prim, and I was willing to be used—I wanted to be used. I wanted to forget about the fact that I lost one of the only people I'd ever loved—," she breaks off, her voice turning frantic. She takes a deep breath before she continues, "It was at a party. He just took me to the back room and had his way with me. I didn't really enjoy it, it was painful, and honestly, it didn't make me forget a thing."

I'm quiet for a long time, trying to process my thoughts; I'm angry, sad, heartbroken and so many other things—it's all confusing.

"Why did you decide to tell me now?" I wonder aloud.

She moves closer to me, until our noses almost touch. "Peeta, there's something going on here," she says, summing up everything I've felt in the last week with her in a few words. "I don't know what or why or how, but there is. And I want you to know things about me, even if—_especially_ if—they are things I don't want anyone else to know."

My hand finds hers immediately and I lace our fingers. I take a deep breath. Tit for tat, right?

"I never told anyone about my mother because she was my mom."I release a heavy sigh, my chest already constricting. I don't talk about my mother. Ever. But I continue through the ache, "And I know that's a ridiculously stupid thing to say, but it was how I felt at the time. I was just a kid—I wanted my mother to love me—and I figured if she was sent away, she'd never get the chance. So I let her hit me and didn't say anything because maybe she would learn to love me if she hit me enough. That's all I wanted: to be loved by my mother."

"Why didn't your Dad say anything or stop it?" she asks immediately, her tone both hurt and angry.

I shake my head. "He didn't know. My mother hid it well and she would always make sure my dad wasn't there when I took baths. Summer was the worst though. If I was in my swimsuit and he saw a bruise, I'd have to lie to him and say that I fell down playing."

"What about your brothers then?"

"They were afraid, Katniss. Afraid that if they told someone, my mother would hit them too. You have no idea how many times they've apologized to me throughout the years for never saying anything."

"They were cowards," Katniss sneers. "If I ever found out someone was hurting Prim I would have—" She pauses as a growling sound erupts from her throat. "Let's just say staying quiet would be the last thing I did—murder would have probably been the first."

But I just shake my head again and press my forehead to hers. "Most people aren't selfless or brave like you are. It's easier not to be."

Surprising me, and I'm pretty sure herself, she press a quick kiss to my cheek. I open my mouth to say something, or kiss her again, but she just continues as if nothing happens, "So when did your father find out?"

My entire body stiffens as the memory overwhelms me. Katniss releases my hand and begins to run both of hers up and down my chest and arms, willing me to relax. But it's difficult.

"I, um," I close my eyes, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.

"You don't have to tell me," Katniss whispers, bringing her body closer to mine, but never stopping the soothing movements of her hands.

"No, I want to. I need to finally tell someone." So I do. "She was really mad one day when I got home from school. I was ten and it was a Tuesday. I came in through the kitchen back door like I always did and washed my hands in the sink. My mother was screaming, I don't know why or at whom, but as soon as she saw me walk around the corner, she headed right to me. She picked up something along the way—I don't even know if she knew what she grabbed or if she even cared—and attacked. I don't remember much after that except blinding pain and watching more and more of my own blood pour out of my head and arms, but my father came in sometime after it started and stopped her. A day later I woke up in the hospital with my father sitting at my bedside. He told me that he'd kicked her out and that he would never let her touch me again."

My whole body is shaking when I finish. Katniss buries her face in my neck and wraps her arms around me, squeezing tightly.

"It was a rolling pin," I whisper after a long time, when the trembling stops. "She hit me with a rolling pin."

Katniss squeezes me harder. And I hold her with everything I have.

* * *

**Hey guys! This chapter was a little sad and fun, so I hope it was the best of both worlds for ya! These serious conversations are going to be popping up more and more as Katniss and Peeta start to get to know each other better and as they get closer to home. Like I said earlier, this story is only going to be 15 chapters, so I'm squeezing a lot of important stuff in here! Thank you all for your constant support, reviews, follows and favorites! I write for you guys!**

**Tumblr: ****_books-are-better_**


	10. Chapter 10

I'm getting drunk tonight. I don't care if I have to do it alone or not, but after all that sharing with Katniss last night, I need to get out of my head for just a moment. I'm not a big drinker and I never have been, but I'm gonna do some drinking tonight.

"Let's stay in a hotel," I say after a couple hours of driving.

Katniss looks up from her iPod and over to me. "Why?"

I shrug my shoulders. "My back is a little sore from sleeping in the tent for a couple nights in a row now, and I'd love to go to a bar and get a drink."

"But you didn't even roll up the sleeping bags this morning; you just threw them in the back." She points her thumb behind her where the sleeping bags are piled haphazardly in the trunk of the Jeep.

I shrug my shoulders. "I didn't feel like doing it—but it'll be fine. Would you like to stay in a hotel or not? We don't have to if you don't want to."

Katniss scrunches up her nose a little bit, but eventually nods her head in agreement. "A hotel sounds fine."

I nod my head. One point for Mellark.

* * *

When we get to St. Louis, I find a hotel in West Downtown and get a room for the two of us. The place actually ends up being fancier than I intended, but the price was nice so I stuck with it. Katniss and I take the elevator up to the third floor and drop off our bags in our room (with one King bed) before we head out to find the nearest bar.

We're lucky. It's only a little down South 20th street, barely three blocks. It's a decent-sized Irish pub and the two of us immediately head to the bar. I order myself five shots of whiskey and Katniss a coke—this pub cards, apparently.

"You really weren't kidding when you said you wanted a drink," Katniss comments as she takes the first sip of her coke.

I nod my head. "No, I wasn't." Katniss watches me with curious eyes, waiting for me to say something. But I don't say anything else. I just toss my shots back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand when I'm finished.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her rough voice smooth for once.

"Fine." My sentence is clipped and harsh.

She nods her head once and leaves me, taking her drink with her. I know I'm being cold. I'm trying to be. I just can't open up tonight. I can't do it. I already said too much last night and I can't be vulnerable around Katniss. I have to be strong for her. Someone needs to be there for her and not disappear, and I want that to be me. But we are getting closer and closer to the end here, and once we get there, I'm not gonna be around. I can't let her in only to lose her.

If I'm cold to her now, maybe I can end this thing happening between us. She acknowledged it last night and as much as that excited me, it fills me with regret. I know she'll hurt me, that's guaranteed, but the last thing I want is for her to be hurt any more than she already has. So if I stop whatever flirty thing we have now, our trip will end before she has the chance to fall for me and she'll go back to her normal life perfectly content.

I sit down on the barstool and order a whiskey neat next. Drowning my sorrows has never applied to me before this night, and I have to admit that it's kinda fun.

"Let me guess, you're just passing through?"

I look to my right, the direction of the voice, and instantly smile. She's pretty sexy; not my type—with the push-up bra and the bleached blonde hair—but still pretty bonerific.

"Yeah," I say, taking a large swig of my drink.

"Where are you headed?" she asks, licking her red lips before she sips her margarita.

"Home—in Oklahoma."

She nods her head and leans in closer to me, exposing more of her—yep, definitely fake—breasts. "I'm Glimmer, by the way."

"Peeta." I extend my hand to her and she shakes it daintily.

We talk for a while, enough long for me to forget about Katniss and my feelings for her and all the drama that comes with it. I just focus on this woman in front of me. She's a senior in college, a Communications major and already has a job lined up for her when she graduates—with someone Daddy has connections with. She's a little full of herself and obviously from a wealthy family, but she's amusing.

"So Peeta," she says when I'm officially drunk and she's finished her third margarita. "Are you looking for a night of fun while you're in town?" Her hand is suddenly on my thigh, inching closer to my crotch. But I don't twitch in my jeans like I normally would. I don't feel anything for this woman. She's nice enough, and pretty enough, but, nothing. I feel nothing. And I know why—it's obvious. She just not—

"Peeta, it's time to get back to the hotel," Katniss says, popping up out of nowhere. Her grey eyes are slit in anger, her voice commanding and leaving no room for interpretation. She's pissed. She pulls me off the barstool, using that unexpected strength, causing Glimmer's hand to slip away. But don't miss it. What I've missed is this: Katniss's touch. Even when it's rough like it is now, her nails digging into my bicep, it feels better than any other woman who has ever touched me.

Who am I kidding? I'm in this. My heart and my soul are invested now, and pushing Katniss away isn't going to help shit.

I lean into Katniss, unsteady on my feet, and tuck my head in to the crook of her neck; she smells like lavender and sandalwood.

"Who is this?" I hear Glimmer ask, but I don't answer. I just wind my arms around Katniss's small frame, my hand finding an exposed patch of her back and touching her warm skin.

"It doesn't matter who I am," Katniss says, her voice still cold and angry. "The point is that you're done having your slut hands on him." Is she jealous? Holy shit, she's jealous.

But I don't have time to dwell on that thought, because then she's dragging me out of the pub. I stumble along next to her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, doing everything in my power not to fall.

We silently walk down the few blocks to the hotel. Then we mosey through the lobby and into the elevator. But as soon as the electric doors close behind us, isolating us from the rest of the world, I can't help myself. I pull her body towards me and press her chest to mine. My hands slip over the curves of her ass, remembering the way it felt in my hands when I went down on her. God, she tasted so good. I'm drooling at the memory. I'm drooling for her.

Katniss sighs into my ear, but she doesn't say or do anything; she just lets me continue my gentle caressing.

When the ding of the elevator alerts us that we're on our floor, she pulls me out of it and down the hall to our room. Still steadying me with her strong form, she slides the electronic key in the door and opens it for the two of us.

She pushes me down on the bed immediately and I fall on my back, groaning slightly. Then she leaves me. She turns on the lights and I can hear water running in the bathroom.

I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing myself. I shouldn't have touched her like that. It was too much. But then I remember: she could have told me to stop at any time and I would have.

"Here."

Katniss is suddenly at the end of the bed, holding a plastic cup full of water. I sit up and take it from her hand—and drain it. She takes it back and heads to the bathroom, only to return seconds later with it filled again. She does that three more times until I feel my head clear monumentally.

"Where were you?" I ask, falling back on the bed.

She furrows her eyebrows at me as she begins unlacing my shoes. "When?" She pulls them off my feet and strips off my socks next.

"When that girl was talking to me. Where were you?"

She unbuckles my belt and unzips my jeans; I lift my hips up and she yanks them off. If she notices the small tent in my boxers, she doesn't say anything. She shrugs her shoulders. "You sounded like you didn't want me around, so I disappeared."

She sets her hands on my chest to begin to unbutton my shirt, but I stop her. I take her left hand and press her palm to my cheek; my heart jumps in my chest. "I always want you around," I mumble, my eyes meeting hers.

I can't read her expression. But I see her eyes flare with something. The corner of her mouth turns up just a little before she pulls her hand away and continues to undress me.

When I'm just in my boxers, she begins to undress for bed too. She slips off her jeans and removes her shirt. Then she heads to her bag to get her usual baggy shirt and tiny pajama shorts. But I don't want them there.

"Stop," I call out. Katniss turns to me with a questioning look in her eyes. "Don't put on any clothes." My eyes trail down the expanse of her olive skin, only two spots covered up by the light blue fabric of her bra and underwear. "Just come to bed."

She hesitates for only a moment; then she turns off the light and crawls onto the bed with me. As soon as she's lying down on her back I roll onto my side and lean my body over hers, so close our noses almost touch.

Then I do it—despite what I convinced myself of two hours earlier.

I open up.

"I'm broken, you know," I tell her. "I used to think it was my mother's fault. And then I thought it was all the women I've dated's fault. But it's mine."

"Peeta…" she trails off, her voice sad. I feel her hand land on the bare skin of my back.

"What could I have done to make them love me more, Katniss? Why does every woman I love run in the opposite direction? What am I supposed to do to make someone stay?"

She doesn't say anything, but I don't expect her to. She doesn't have any answers. No one does. Releasing a sigh, I press my forehead to hers and breathe in her comforting scent as I let my land trail up and down her flat, muscled stomach.

"Thresh was the strong and silent type, ya know?" she murmurs, her mouth only an inch from mine. I open my eyes to look at hers, but she's squeezing them shut; her throat bobs with a nervous swallow. "I never thought he'd cheat on me. He was so honest and protective. We weren't together for long, maybe only two months, but I found out that he had been fucking his ex-girlfriend Rue the whole time. I guess they weren't exactly ex." She mumbles the last part almost to herself. "But it threw me off when I ran into them at the store, making out in front of the peaches. He used to get so territorial whenever we were around a guy who showed even the smallest amount of interest in me; he made sure they knew I was taken. But here he was, fucking someone behind my back."

She finally opens her eyes and meets mine. "I can never be cheated on again. I think it would kill me. It made me feel so used and empty—like I felt when that guy took my virginity—like I felt when I lost Prim." She slides her hand up my back to shoulder. "I don't know how you've survived it all these times, Peeta. You are the opposite of broken if go through it more than once and still be so caring." She kisses the tip of my nose. Just once, but I feel it all through my whole body, making me feel alive. "You're the strongest person I've ever met."

She turns on her side then, holding my arm to her stomach, snuggling her back to my front so we're spooning.

"Promise me you won't forget this tomorrow, okay?" she finally whispers into the night.

I nod my head. "I won't forget I single moment I spend with you."

* * *

**Hey guys! Sorry this update took a bit, but I got a little busy. Thank you so much for your support, with the reviews and follows and favorites! This chapter is a tad short, but it's essential for next chapter which is probably my favorite one so far and the most important in the developing Peeta/Katniss relationship! I'm excited for you to read it. But this chapter comes first.**

**And I need to give out a special shout out to ****_Cat O'Hara Butler _****who designed the new artwork for this fic! Thank you so much! I'm in love with it!**

**Tumblr: ****_books-are-better_**


	11. Chapter 11

Katniss is silent when we wake up the next morning. I try to start a conversation when we're getting dressed and eating breakfast and even when we're packing the car; but I get nothing more than monosyllable grunts or one word answers. I told her I wouldn't forget and I haven't. So why is she acting like she's forgotten?

It's not until we're driving on Interstate-44 that Katniss truly speaks.

"Can we take a highway, please?" she says with a bit of an edge to her tone. She pops open a diet coke, fidgeting in her seat.

"Why?"

"Because I'm sick of traffic," she sneers, "And I want to see some nature instead of concrete." She takes a large, passive-aggressive swig of her drink.

I nod my head and do what she says, finding an exit to Highway 60—which seems to be in relative isolation.

"Better?" I ask once we are surrounded by nothingness.

She nods her head, back to silence. But I don't want it anymore. In fact, I'm a little sick of it.

"Stop it, Katniss."

She whirls in my direction. "Stop what?"

"Stop pulling away from me!" I shout. Silence takes over the car once again. I take a deep breath, trying to will away the anger and act rationally. Then I continue, "We take a step forward and then we take two steps back. Don't do it. For my sake and yours, just don't."

I glance over to her and she meets my eyes; grey and blue together. Despair and hope identical.

"What are we doing, Peeta?" she whispers when I finally look back to the road.

I gulp loudly. "I don't know."

This time the silence is mutual. I have no idea what I'm doing. In the past when I've liked a girl, I've just gone after her, plain and simple. But things aren't simple with Katniss. They're hard. She continues to throw me for a loop which I love and hate equally. I can't predict her. I don't know what she's feeling. She's pushing and pulling me. She's a myriad of love and lust and fire and water and I want all of it.

But does she want me?

I turn on the stereo to drown out my thoughts and focus on the road ahead of me. It's empty—only the two of us suffocating in this car.

But then suddenly, everything changes.

The jeep stutters. The lights on the dashboard fail and smoke billows out from under the hood.

"What the hell?" I gasp, shocked.

I slowly press on the brakes of the already dying car and carefully pull over to the side of the road.

I jump out of the jeep as soon as it's shifted into park. Katniss follows. I'm a baker, not a mechanic, but I open up the hood away. I'm immediately assaulted with smoke and horrible smelling fumes and pull away coughing.

"Shit," I curse. I look at the engine to try to see if anything looks out of place or broken, but all I see are angry black contraptions and bent metal.

I glance over at Katniss; she's standing in the grass on the side of the road, her hands on her hips. Her jean shorts have ridden up, now even shorter than the last time I saw her wearing them. She's biting her lip and tugging on her braid.

I open my mouth, about to ask her if she has cell service, when the first clap of thunder cuts me off. I look up to the sky, the stormy clouds I didn't notice before are massive and bundled over our heads; a drop of rain hits my cheek.

"Of course," I groan, slamming the hood shut. I've never had any trouble with my jeep since I bought it, so of course it decides to break down in the middle of a rainstorm on an empty highway. "Dammit!" I slam my fist on the hood once; white hot pain surges through my hand then fades almost instantly.

I yank my phone out of my pocket as the rain steadily picks up. No service. Well, I guess it's good that Katniss suggested we take this back highway—at least we won't piss off traffic. But who knows if we'll be able to get help out here. This sucks ass. I kick at the dirt, cursing again, louder this time.

A small chuckle cuts through my anger, and I look over to see Katniss covering her mouth with her right hand, trying to muffle her laughter.

"What?" I growl, my tone harsher than I would like.

She lets her hand fall and a loud giggle escapes from her red lips. "I'm sorry. But you look ridiculous when you have a temper tantrum."

"I'm not having a temper tantrum," I defend immediately. But then start to chuckle too, my anger forgotten as the image pops into my head; I must look like a six foot tall baby.

Katniss stops giggling, her mouth turning into a warm smile instead. "Honestly, Peeta, it's not that bad."

The rain is suddenly coming down in sheets, soaking us to the bone in a matter of seconds. I quirk my eyebrows up at her. Not that bad, huh? She laughs again, shaking her now wet braid. "Just relax. All we have to do is wait it out in the Jeep. The sleeping bags are already unrolled in the back, remember? You were too lazy to roll them up the other day. Don't worry about it."

Her bangs are plastered to her forehead, her tank top clinging to her full chest. She's beautiful. Everything about her. Her skin, her eyes, her overbite, her thick thighs, her purple toes, her heart, her personality, her hardness, her sarcasm. Her soul. And I can't deny myself anymore.

My lips are on hers before I've even thought about doing it. And I ignore the broken down car and the rain and the lightning and everything that's wrong in the world because she's kissing me back. Her soft hands land on the side of my face, holding my mouth to hers.

I break away from her momentarily and look into her silver eyes. She's watching me and breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly, straining her wet tank-top.

"I want you, Peeta," she whispers, licking her lips.

"I want you, too," I finally tell her, after thinking it from the second I saw her.

She pulls my face down to hers and we're kissing again. It isn't like last time after the funeral, when I was holding back and consoling her. I'm kissing her with everything I have. I'm making her mine.

I run my tongue along her bottom lip, tasting her, and she opens her mouth for me. I dive right in, a groan escaping from the back of my throat. She tastes like strawberries and diet coke. I lift her up into my arms and she wraps her legs around my waist tightly.

"The car," she pants against my mouth.

I nod my head and oblige, walking as fast as humanly possible to the rear of the jeep; I set her back on the ground and rip my lips from hers. I open the trunk and take in the mess. Our bags and random crap are piled haphazardly all over the place, but I can work with it. I tell Katniss to stay put and jump into the back. I throw our duffles and tent and everything from back here up to the driver's and passenger's seats, then lean over the back seat to scoot our other stuff to the floor. I fold down the seats, giving the two of us more room, and then I get to work on the open sleeping bags. I unzip them entirely until they are just two big blankets, then lay one down on the itchy carpet of the trunk. When I've finished, I look out to Katniss and motion her in.

She jumps up, being careful not to bump her head and I slam the trunk closed behind her. It's cramped and hot in here, but I don't care. I need her. I pull Katniss back into my arms, aching from not having her lips on mine. I fall down on top of her, shifting between her thighs.

Katniss tugs at the hem of my t-shirt and I pull away from her so I can tear it off. I throw it to the side and fall down onto top of her to kiss her again; but she stops me before I can get to her lips. She presses her soft hands to my bare chest and pushes me back slightly. Her eyes rake down my bare torso as she trails her slim fingers across my collarbones then down my chest and stomach; I shiver and tremble against her touch, so perfect and caring.

As soon as her hands reach my jeans, she unbuttons and unzips them for me. I meet her eyes, shock lighting up my body, but all I see is hunger there. Not fear or concern or hesitation. Just pure lust. I roll off of her and tear off my shoes and socks and then my jeans, so I'm only in my boxers, and then position myself on top of her again.

Katniss yanks off her tank top and I suck in my breath at the sight; her small nipples are peaking through the thin fabric of her bra.

I must stare at her for a while, because her soft voice calls me out of my haze. "Undress me, Peeta."

I nod and move my hands to her shorts, the shorts I've imagined stripping from her since I first saw her wear them; the wet denim clings to her thighs. I slip off her sandals next and stare down at her again. The light blue fabric of her bra and underwear look utterly delectable against her olive skin, but I don't want them there anymore. I want her naked and spread open for me again.

I reach for the small clasp in front, and undo it, letting it fall open. Her pert breasts are just like I remember, begging to be touched and licked. And God, I want to taste them again; it's been too long. She pushes her bra off her arms and I slide my hands down her sides until I reach the band of her underwear.

"Please," she pleads, her voice husky. She lifts her hips for me and I pull them down and off, throwing them behind me somewhere.

My cock throbs at the sight of the small patch of curls and the heat I've imagined slipping into so many times before. Katniss's hands are suddenly on my hips, pulling down my plaid boxers. I kick them off and away, avoiding eye contact with her for a moment while I gain courage. This is the first time she's seen me naked, and if I'm truly honest with myself, I'm terrified. I've never heard any complaints about what I'm packing, but none of those girls compare to Katniss. Her opinion is the only one that matters.

When I finally look at her face again, she's staring at my cock, her teeth biting her bottom lip so hard I'm afraid she's going to break the skin. Nervous, I fall back down on her, cutting off her line of vision. She looks up at me again and releases her lip; her mouth morphs into a smile. Okay, I guess she approves.

She kisses me again, the passion and the hunger from earlier still there, but it's calmer and softer. It's loving. I know that Katniss is different—I've known that from the second I talked to her. And this is going to be different. It won't be sex with her. It will be more. It will be making love. Even in a car in the middle of the rain. That's what it will be with her.

She puts her hands on my hips and squeezes. She's urging me. She wants me too. I separate our lips to gaze down at her. I slide my nose against hers and take a shuddering breath, preparing myself for what could be the greatest moment of my life. I move one of the hands I'm propping myself up with and slither it between the two of us. My fingers graze her clit and her entire body tightens; she releases a strangled moan. Fuck, she's soaked. I begin to circle it slowly and watch her reaction: her cheeks flush, her eyes flutter closed.

Then I remember something terrible. "Fuck, Katniss, I don't have a condom."

Shit. I should have taken Finnick's advice. "I'll just go down on you," I tell her, though it pains me to think about not being inside of her once again.

Her eyes fly open with a panicked look in them and she squeezes my hips again. "No. I need you, Peeta. I'm on the pill and I trust you. I'm clean."

My hearts pound in my chest. She trusts me. After everything, she finally trusts me. "I'm clean, too," I tell her. I had a check-up less than a month ago, and I haven't slept with anyone since. Delly and I weren't having sex for the last month of our relationship, which was another hint I missed. Plus, I've always used a condom. Always.

"Katniss, are you sure?" I ask as I move my hand to grasp my cock, placing it at her entrance. I need her to know for certain.

"Yes," she breathes, her face relaxing. She slides her hands up my bare hips until she reaches the back of my head. She winds her fingers into my messy waves. "I've never been more sure of anything."

Then slowly, I push into her until our hips are flush.

"Oh, God," I moan, squeezing my eyes shut. I already have to stop myself from exploding. She's perfection. Warm, wet, tight, perfection.

Katniss pulls my head down to hers and molds her lips to mine. She kisses me tenderly, her tongue seeking mine carefully, her lips trembling. I take pause, buried as deep inside of her as I can get, and just kiss her.

But soon she breaks it, panting quietly in unison with me. "Move, Peeta," she tells me with a nod of her head. I hold her gaze as I slowly move out of her, and then in again; her insides suck me in like they don't want me to leave. And fuck, I don't want to.

I set a slow pace, in and out, taking my time and watching the way it affects her. Her grey eyes change to black and turn glassy, the olive toned skin of her chest flushes, her small nipples harden and elongate, and she grows slicker around me. I can't look away. My body wants me to close my eyes and pound her furiously, but my heart doesn't want that. My heart wants to cherish her, and worship her body and soul with every twitch of my hips. So that's what I try to do.

Katniss winds her legs around my hips, pulling me deeper and we groan together. She digs her nails into my back, encouraging me to go faster or harder or just continue—I'm not sure.

"What do you like, Katniss?" I pant. I'll do anything to please her.

"This," she pants back, her voice husky. Her breasts jiggle every time my hips hit hers, and it's a glorious sight. "You," she continues. "I've wanted you for a long time."

I groan again, this time because of her words. She's wanted me just as long as I've wanted her. I move one of my hands to her chest and play with her pebbled nipple, pulling and rolling it between my fingers; she clenches around me in response.

"Me too. I've wanted you since the first second I saw you," I confess. Leaning forward, I capture her lips once again. She's kisses me back clumsily, panting into my mouth, her tongue prodding at mine.

I slide both of my hands around her back and squeeze our bodies together; her hard nipples press against my chest. The new position causes me to brush against her clit with each thrust, and I can feel it turn her on; her warm body increases in sweat, her insides flutter around my dick and her pants grows louder in my ear.

"Peeta, I'm so close," she whimpers into my ear.

"Me too." I've been close this entire time. Hell, it's miracle that I haven't already blown my lode. But I grit my teeth and pick up the pace infinitesimally. Katniss purrs in approval and I kiss down her neck, licking the sweat off her perfect skin.

Her orgasm hits her with no preamble like there was last time. One minute she's moaning quietly and the next she's screaming my name and her insides are squeezing me inside her like a fist. And I'm officially out.

"Oh, fuck, Katniss!" is all I say before I slam to the hilt and come as she still experiencing the aftershocks of her orgasm. Moaning against her mouth, I thrust lazily inside her a couple times as I rub out my never ending orgasm, spilling into her over and over. Oh shit. I don't think I've ever come so hard. I collapse on top of her, careful not to crush her with my weight, and kiss her along her sweat glistened collarbone.

It's official. That was the best sex of my life. I never knew having sex without a condom would be so much better.

But it was more than that. It's her. It's Katniss.

I remove my face from her neck and kiss her again, as gently as I can. I cup her beautiful face in my hand and cherish her perfect mouth with mine, trying to express the words I'm too afraid to say but I know in my heart I feel.

I'm falling for her. Ardently.

"Are you okay?" I ask when I pull away.

A warm, quiet smile forms on her face; I instantly relax. "Yes." She lifts her head and kisses me again, her hands diving into my hair, holding my face to hers. She's grinning when she finally pulls away.

I slip out of her, much to my dismay, and roll away. I find my discarded shirt in the corner and roll back to her to; I reach between her deliciously muscled thighs and clean off the evidence of our sex—not wanting her to have sticky thighs and be uncomfortable. When I'm done, I look up to her face; she's looking at me with that same expression she keeps on having that I can't figure out. Shaking my head, I ball up the shirt and throw it down by our feet and immediately pull her back into my arms.

"Are you cold, tired, hungry?" I ask, tucking her now dry bangs behind her ear. I want her to be perfectly content in every way. I will do anything for that to happen. I pull the sleeping bag we aren't lying on over top of us.

Katniss grazes her fingers across my chest and shakes her head. "I'm perfect, Peeta."

"Yes," I tell her; her eyes lock on my mine and my heart skips in my chest. "You really are."

* * *

**So there it is! Were you guys expecting it to happen this chapter? What is going to happen now that they've had sex? Only time will tell. :D I hope you enjoyed it and thanks again for all of your support. It's amazingly amazing! **

**Tumblr: ****_books-are-better_**


End file.
